Sir Isaac Newton,, my great uncle ten times removed, tells me stars are easier to understand than frogs or apples. We debate about the first second before the universe began; conditions were so extreme I can't believe in the cosmic modesty he swears by. When I die I want to be reincarnated as an atom or a galaxy. Falling stars make people wish for good things, but they're dead: funerals don't evoke the same hope. Stars don't fall; they streak and fade like whispers. A monk makes a clock that keeps star-time: It was the best thing I ever did. The alarm goes off each time a star dies. This way the monk can keep his finger on the pulse. Newton gets hit on the head with an apple from the Tree of Knowledge before he figures out the laws of gravity and motion limit him. The monk finds his own way to keep time: I have more faith than you.