An Encounter with the Milky Way

The Thing in the Sky

There is a reason the Milky Way features so prominently in my book and as a symbol for everything I do. To me, it represents not only wonder but also everything that is wrong with the modern world.

On January 17th, 1994, a massive earthquake struck Los Angeles, plunging the city into darkness. With the power grid down, the night sky revealed itself in full. The 911 lines were flooded with calls reporting a strange silver streak overhead. Many believed it was a sign of alien interference. In truth, it was the Milky Way—something so ordinary, yet so extraordinary, that most people in the developed world had never seen it before.

A Hierarchy of Consciousness

There is a hierarchy to our physical existence: house → town → country → earth → solar system → galaxy → universe. How far your awareness extends along this path, I believe, says something about how enlightened you are. Yes, it may sound like an arrogant oversimplification, but there is a kernel of truth here.

Not being familiar with the Milky Way as a portal to the larger universe is not anyone’s fault. People are born into cities, surrounded by lights that drown out the stars. Civilization depends on those lights. Yet the cost is profound: we lose the sky, and with it, a sense of scale.

Confronting the Universe

To truly confront the universe requires preparation. You need to know what you are seeing. The people in Los Angeles who mistook the Milky Way for alien ships suffered from a consciousness‑limiting affliction: a lack of basic scientific knowledge. Despite decades of supposed educational progress, cosmological literacy remains stagnant.

his is all a buildup to what I call the first encounter with the universe. To stand beneath the Milky Way, fully aware of what it is, transforms confusion into awe. Imagine it: you are standing on a rocky planet, orbiting a medium‑sized star, inside a disc containing 400 billion stars. That knowledge is the key that unlocks wonder.

My First Encounter

I remember the first time I saw the Milky Way clearly. It wasn’t a streak of silver or an alien ship—it was a river of stars, flowing across the sky like a story written in light. That night changed me. It gave me scale, humility, belonging. And once you’ve had that encounter, you carry it with you forever.

When I am in Newfoundland, on my little patch of country, I monitor the cloud cover and moon phases in anticipation of the perfect nexus: a clear sky and a new moon. As the sun sets and night arrives, my heart pounds with anticipation. The image on the cover of my book The Journey Home was taken on such a night.

A Wish for Humanity

My wish for humanity is simple: that everyone could have the same life‑altering transformation. To stand beneath the Milky Way, to feel both small and infinite, is to awaken to the universe. Once you get it, it never leaves you.