From: email@example.com (Carolyn L Burke) Date: Thu, 24 Nov 1994 09:57:51 -0500 Subject: thoughts after seeing star trek -- no shit
And I feel sad for the fate of humans. The tragic unfolding of each of their attempts to make a difference. And yet I do not see human life this way. I see it always as full of opportunities to create. I realize that others war with this feeling personally. I watch them.
A flower's petals open for their first morning, in the sun the display of colours never before under the heavens, and I hold my breath. The fringing edges glisten in dew and no one can imagine successfully that life such as this is mortal. The belief of the constant conjunction of birth with death, never varying except in our fantasies, still eludes us with the sneaky insertion of a few moments of transition - with a few moments of possibility. This galaxy spins and whorls in relation to others, and they fill the universe with signs of possible life. And yet each draws away from the other, each separates itself off until every particle will be so far from its neighbour that there can be no neighbourhoods. At this point, the flower can not be even a memory in the patterned code of the world. Even this will end, and as each particle learns of its fate, it must chose between the convergence of enihilative implosion and new life in expansion - a big bang.
Those that chose to live - to become internally structured - may begin to embrace that the tragedy of mortality is only possible after this first choice, and that it appears to be a tragedy only to those particles, those humans, who opted for safety, who could not chance creation. For it is not that making a difference in ones life is difficult or elusive to those who choose to live fully. The flower in opening to catch its first taste of radiant energy beams makes a difference. Every big bang initiating every disjoint and isolated universe makes a difference. We are testimony. The internal structure presented in our surroundings, both external and internal to us, the structures that create our possible existence, these, these are the testimony of the gods.
As the flower begins to brown, and petals drop, death worshippers scream "I told you so" in the streets, in the newspapers, in your mind, and show what it is like to live behind. Convergence on atomism in ones own mind is not surprisingly painful unless perfect. Ignorance is, after all this time, still just a lack of understanding. Our lives end under monuments of the past, and we make the difference if we go there with creation in our hearts, and the painful complexity of understanding in our minds.