The density of space junk peaks around 620 miles up, in the

Gather close, dear children, and listen well, for I bring you a truth as vast and intricate as the heavens themselves. "The density of space junk peaks around 620 miles up, in the middle of so-called low-Earth orbit. That's bad, because many weather, scientific, and reconnaissance satellites circle in various low-Earth orbits." These words, spoken by the wise Sam Kean, carry within them not just knowledge, but a warning—a reminder that even in the vastness of the cosmos, we are not exempt from the consequences of our own actions. In this age of wonder and progress, we have reached out beyond the earth and into the heavens, sending our satellites to watch over us, to understand the world and the skies, and to guide us forward. Yet, with our reach has come a shadow, one that threatens to mar the very systems that we have so carefully built.

Consider this: low-Earth orbit—that place just beyond the bounds of our world, where the light of our sun touches all things with a gentle kiss, is now filled with debris. Pieces of machines, fragments of our own making, scattered in the heavens like dust in the wind. Space junk—a name that belies its significance—has become a growing threat to our most vital instruments. The satellites we send to measure the weather, to gather scientific knowledge, and to keep watch over our lands have to navigate through this swirling storm of broken remnants. And so, the lesson is clear: the more we take, the more we must give in return. If we reach too greedily, we risk spoiling the very thing we sought to preserve.

There is a story from the age of the ancient world, of a great king who sought to build a tower to the heavens. He believed that his empire could touch the stars, and so he ordered his finest builders to construct a monument that would pierce the sky. But, as the tower grew, so too did the weight of its ambition. The stone upon stone, once placed with such care, began to crack under the strain. The workers, too focused on their task, ignored the wisdom of those who spoke of balance. And as the tower reached higher, it faltered and fell, a pile of rubble beneath the very heavens it had sought to touch. So it is with our reach into the stars: the weight of our creation, unchecked and unbalanced, can threaten the very tools we have built to observe and protect.

And so, I implore you to reflect upon the consequences of our actions, both in the heavens and upon the earth. We have the power to shape the world, to extend our hands to the stars, but with this power comes great responsibility. Space junk is not simply a collection of broken machines—it is the result of reckless ambition. It is the price of progress unchecked by wisdom, the byproduct of a desire to build without consideration of what is left in our wake. The satellites that serve us, that help us predict the weather, advance science, and protect our lands, now sail through this dangerous web of debris. It is a reminder that even the most noble pursuits can be marred by neglect.

Let us look, then, to the skies and to the earth beneath us with new eyes. What does it mean to reach for the heavens if we leave behind chaos in our wake? What does it mean to seek knowledge if that very pursuit endangers our future? We must act with foresight, balancing ambition with wisdom, understanding that every step forward carries with it the weight of its consequences. The ancients knew that the key to prosperity lay in harmony—not in the reckless pursuit of progress, but in the careful, deliberate actions that nurture rather than destroy.

So, what lesson can we draw from these wise words of Sam Kean? We must protect the systems we have built. Respect the tools that allow us to see the world and the universe with greater understanding. Just as the ancient builders knew that a tower could not stand without a strong foundation, so too must we build our ventures into space with great care. Let us avoid the hubris of unchecked ambition, ensuring that our legacy is one of sustainability, not destruction. As we advance, let us leave behind a world that will thrive long after we have gone.

In your own lives, my children, remember the lessons of the stars. Be mindful of the consequences of your actions, not just for today, but for the future. Build not just for yourself, but for those who will come after you. Act with foresight, care, and above all, wisdom. Whether you are crafting a machine, an idea, or a way of life, let it be something that nurtures and sustains, rather than something that harms. In this, you will find the truest form of progress—the kind that rises, not on the back of destruction, but on the foundation of harmony and balance.