On April 1, 2026, NASA launched the Artemis II crew into space to conduct a flyby of Earth’s moon. During the nine-day mission, photos, videos, and audio were shared that intrigued the world, reminding us, as humans, we are only a small part of the immense history of Nihimá Nahasdzáán, Yethi’nisténha Ohóntsya, Uŋčí Makhá, including all Indigenous of names for Earth not recorded.  

Photos were shared online millions of times of recent images of the moon’s surface. “Moon joy” was soon a trending topic on social media: videos of joy, of discovery, of creation. One of the astronauts expressed a moment of grief, a love that does not fade, that it was felt throughout the viewers. This occasion served as a reminder of how colossal the galaxy is, how it truly remains a mystery.  

This issue proved to be a special star among the Chapter House Journal universe, one that commenced our Inaugural Indigenous Prize for Creative Nonfiction, by our wonderful guest judge, Cynthia J. Sylvester. I selected our guest judge based on her stellar storytelling weaving genres flawlessly and a remarkable supporter and teacher of creative nonfiction. As if the stars aligned and proved that we needed to work together, this quote caught our eye in her book, The Half-White Album: “These pieces, poems and stories, are my songs that I offer to the night sky with the hope that at dawn the ancient deities will see me—see us—and remember our names.” 

As you, the reader, work through the clustering of these pieces; our writers demonstrate their interactions and understanding of the cosmos. The winner of the Indigenous Prize for Creative Nonfiction, Shaniya Smith, reflects on the effect of time in terms of starlight in “Every Rez Was Once Home to Dinosaurs” with “If we gaze into the sky at planets and suns far off, we are seeing the past, never the present.” Smith's essay is a reminder that humans are here for a limited time, but storytelling is what keeps us evolving. In “Inipi,” finalist Cheryl Mendoza’s piece reads like a prayer, requesting peace and teachings, with both the Earth but also into the sky with “Let that same wind bring knowledge of the Milky Way and its spiritual path.” But one of the best ways to describe us as humans emerged from Rebecca Kinkade-Black's “Becoming,” a personal essay correlating identity with oral history, with “I am the cosmos and I capable of figuring out anything that needs figuring out. I am made from everything I see when I look skyward. Just like the stars, I am made of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, and helium. Also, just like the stars, I’m held together by self-gravity...”  

For Indigenous people, stories that can include star-beings, stories held in their formation. The moon has her own story, protecting Nihimá Nahasdzáán producing stories, songs, and poems for centuries. As inhabitants of Nihimá Nahasdzáán, Yethi’nisténha Ohóntsya, Uŋčí Makhá, etc., our contributors formed a universal experience of warmth where, in darkness, stars appear—glitter above us hold galaxies—and in light, who has been here for millions of years long before us and will be here long after our time.