Dude, Look at the Sky

While I was heading from the Student Center to Langston to get my bike, I was stopped by a young man sitting on one of the dividing stumps that separates Ring Road from the main plaza of the Student Center. He gave me a simple, “Hey, bro, wait just a second,” and I turned on the basic instinct and in order to make it not so obvious that my gaze was trained on a cute young college girl wandering around in the twilight as well.

When I turned to the young man, I braced myself for an offering of how Jesus can save my immortal soul. I’m rarely stopped by a perfect stranger on campus for anything other than proselytizing a cause, and more often than not the cause that stops me involves Jesus Christ. When I turned to him, he told me, “Dude, look at the sky.” At first, I gave it a cursory glance. It was partly cloudy. The sun was in its waning hour. I somewhat expected a surprise. Why would anyone stop me at random if not for some rare novelty, like a UFO or a rainbow? I looked back at him and he said to me, “Isn’t that beautiful man?”

When I looked back, I looked back with greater pause. It was, indeed, beautiful. The fog of yesterday that had cooled off the coast had transformed into mid-altitude clouds of intricate patterns. The twilight sun danced colorfully inside the forms of water vapor, set against the backdrop of the deep twilight blue. I realized the truth in the young man’s words. He said to me, “You know, sometimes you’ve just gotta stop and look around, right?” I agreed, smiled, and gave him a “Thanks, man,” accompanied with a peace sign before heading on my way. All he had stopped me for was a beautiful sky.

The man on the stump offered me nothing except what was already there in front of us. I was immensely pleased with his actions on the stump there. In many ways, this man on the stump embodies what I think is so deeply missing in higher education and the modern culture in general. This man took the time to sit, observe what was in front of him, and attempt to share what he saw with others. He didn’t force anything, and let his discovery speak for itself. That is the key to great academic work, in my not so humble opinion. I would take one of this man over a hundred of the other youth that are being churned out on the assembly line of competitive higher education today.

It is certainly a situation that gives one a bright ray of hope. Not only are you not the only person looking at the sky, but you were stopped by another to remind you of your own ethos. The thinkers are not dead, and maybe all it takes is one great sunset to bring them out of hiding again.