When I was young, I had a reoccurring dream about visiting a star. In the dream, my mom, dad, sister, and I would load into our big brown station wagon for the long, circuitous drive upward. There was a parking lot in front of the star, and the doors leading into the star looked just like the doors of your average grocery store.

Inside the star, the light was muted and the sound muffled. The star was filled with a soft blue substance that looked like cotton candy but felt wetter. We would swim through the blueness, carrying baskets, in search of floating blueberries. That was the purpose of our visit – to find delicious blueberries.