We have the capacity to receive messages from the stars and the

Ruth St. Denis, the radiant pioneer of modern dance, once declared: “We have the capacity to receive messages from the stars and the songs of the night winds.” In this statement, she unveils a vision of the human soul as more than flesh and bone, more than intellect and reason. She saw the human being as a vessel attuned to the rhythms of the cosmos, a spirit that, if open, could hear not only the words of men but the eternal whispers of nature and the divine. To her, art, dance, and life itself were sacred channels through which the universe spoke.

O listener, understand this mystery: the stars are not silent. Since the beginning of time, they have shone above as eternal witnesses, carrying light from distant ages, light that reaches us across the gulf of centuries. To say we may receive messages from them is to say that our souls are not bound by the noise of daily life, but can open themselves to eternity. Likewise, the winds of night carry more than air—they carry whispers, voices of change, omens, and comfort. Only those who still their hearts may hear the songs hidden within their sighs.

Ruth St. Denis spoke as an artist, but her words are also the language of seers and prophets. Consider Joan of Arc, the peasant girl who heard voices not from the earth but from realms unseen, urging her to rise and deliver France. Many scoffed at her, yet her conviction carried her into history, for she believed that human beings are capable of hearing more than the chatter of men—that they can hear the higher songs of destiny itself. So too, St. Denis reminds us: each of us may attune to these messages, if only we open ourselves.

Her own life was proof of this belief. In her dances, she sought not mere movement but communion. She drew upon Eastern mysticism, sacred ritual, and the rhythms of the universe to express truths that could not be captured by words. For her, to dance was to translate the songs of the night winds into motion, to make visible the harmony of the stars. She believed that art was not entertainment but revelation, a means by which humanity could reawaken to its place in the cosmic order.

The wisdom here is not bound to dance alone. It applies to all who live. We walk through life surrounded by voices, signs, and mysteries, but most are deaf to them. We drown the songs of the winds with noise, blind ourselves to the messages in the sky by lowering our gaze. Yet those who pause, who grow still, who listen with the heart, find themselves touched by truths they cannot explain but know to be real. Such listening awakens awe, reverence, and humility—the very foundations of wisdom.

The lesson, then, is clear: awaken your capacity to receive. Do not think that the universe is mute or that life is empty of wonder. Look to the stars, and let them remind you of your smallness and your greatness, your mortality and your immortality. Walk beneath the night sky, and let the winds carry their songs into your soul. Pay attention to the signs of life around you: the rhythm of waves, the silence of snow, the cry of a bird at dawn. All are messages, if you have ears to hear.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, cultivate silence and openness in your lives. Lay aside distraction, and let your soul breathe with the cosmos. Create art, or dwell in nature, or pray beneath the heavens—whatever allows you to tune your heart to the greater song. For Ruth St. Denis spoke not of fantasy, but of the truth that lies waiting in every human being: the power to hear what is eternal, to feel what is sacred, to live in harmony with the whole of creation.

For in the end, to receive messages from the stars and songs from the night winds is not to escape life but to enter it more deeply. It is to live awake, to recognize that we are not isolated creatures but parts of a grand design. Those who learn to listen will walk not in despair, but in wonder—and their lives will themselves become a song, echoing back to the stars.