Boldly Go Reflections on a Life of Awe and Wonder

Shatner said of going into space, he's the oldest person to ever go into space. I wept for the earth because I realized it's dying. I dedicated my book, Boldly Go, to my great grandchild who's three now, these youngsters who are going to reap what we have sown in terms of the destruction of the earth. I saw more clearly than I have with all the studying and reading I've done, the writhing slow death of earth and we on it. It's a little tiny rock with an onion skin air around it. That's how fragile it all is. It's so fragile. We hang by a thread. We're just dangling.

I don't know whether you've seen the book.

So that's based on a book that's out there called Boldly Go.

I saw a cold, dark, black emptiness. It was unlike any blackness you can see or feel on Earth. It was deep, enveloping, all-encompassing.

Everything I had thought was wrong. Everything I had expected to see was wrong.

They should have sent a poet.

Leaving that behind made my connection to our tiny planet even more profound. It was among the strongest feelings of grief I have ever encountered.

The contrast between the vicious coldness of space and the warm nurturing of Earth below filled me with overwhelming sadness.

I saw a cold, dark, black emptiness. It was unlike any blackness you can see or feel on Earth. It was deep, enveloping, all-encompassing.

Everything I had thought was wrong. Everything I had expected to see was wrong.

They should have sent a poet.

Leaving that behind made my connection to our tiny planet even more profound. It was among the strongest feelings of grief I have ever encountered.

It filled me with dread. My trip to space was supposed to be a celebration. Instead, it felt like a funeral.