Thirteen point seven billion years, the age of the universe. One planet out of billions we live in. One of seven billion people on earth, I am, and counting. Millions will be delivered today, millions will end today.
An infinitesimal spec, I am.
Act I:Enter life, push, push, push – mother spread on hospital bed screaming, baby in shock crying the very first breath, and counting.
Act III: Leave life – another pain, more lasting for the temporary survivors until they make their own exit.
And the in-between part. The living and trying, the giving up or not giving up part, the failures and burstings of the fantasy bubbles, the growing old and weary and alone part, the not understanding anything part, the memories that stubbornly refuse to fade, the expectations that refuse to wane. The futility of all endeavor. Inequities, war, disease, famine, torture, injustice – just trivial affairs of some species on some planet which looks peaceful from a distance, as everything does.
Living life – another pain… The good news – we can hide sadness but we can’t hide happiness. And happiness, like laughter, can be contagious.
I am so insignificant, yet I am the observer, whoever this I am is. Is it a dull movie, a good movie, this life? Mister or misses, actor observer or just never there sir. Without my consciousness – the lenses and auditory devices in my head – tainted and necessarily corrupted, but still, without my own consciousness, there would be nothing.
I am surrounded by many people. I am alone. It is just the hiss and hum between my ears. Otherwise, a constant absence from a fleeting present.
I am the sleep walker, the conditioned. Pavlov’s dog. Deterministic and probabilistic at once.
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