It is strange and wonderful
that each body contains remnants
of a remote time and deep space.
Yet we still struggle to find our place—
to seek meaning in what might otherwise be
an indistinguishable existence
of great insignificance.
The cosmos is too vast to comprehend,
its distances unfathomable.
Yet that has never stopped us
from contemplating our ability to traverse it—
as if that alone would justify our part in it.
As the echoes of supernovae prove
here a star once existed.
The warmth of our Sun is insatiable;
we long for the next nearest,
Proxima Centauri,
ten thousand of our own years away.
We imagine alien life
as a complement to our own origin story,
filling in ancient fables,
bolstering old myths,
searching for truth hidden in the darkness.
We dedicate our entire lives
to a quest only future generations might come to realize.
We build towers, temples, and telescopes
to feel closer to what is far beyond our reach—
to seek understanding,
to elevate what might otherwise seem bleak.
This is our legacy:
curiosity, ambition, relentless pursuit—
to explore beyond our current planet,
to find order in the chaotic soup.
We ask ourselves the same questions, over and over:
Where did the universe come from?
Does it have a beginning or an end?
What happened at the beginning?
How do time and travel fit in?
We re-imagine our civilization
and wonder what more we can do.
As we orbit Sagittarius A*,
on a fixed loop
26,000 light-years away,
new ideas emerge here on Earth.
Are we just another program
executing commands,
still stuck on the backs of turtles,
infinitely spiraling down?
that each body contains remnants
of a remote time and deep space.
Yet we still struggle to find our place—
to seek meaning in what might otherwise be
an indistinguishable existence
of great insignificance.
The cosmos is too vast to comprehend,
its distances unfathomable.
Yet that has never stopped us
from contemplating our ability to traverse it—
as if that alone would justify our part in it.
As the echoes of supernovae prove
here a star once existed.
The warmth of our Sun is insatiable;
we long for the next nearest,
Proxima Centauri,
ten thousand of our own years away.
We imagine alien life
as a complement to our own origin story,
filling in ancient fables,
bolstering old myths,
searching for truth hidden in the darkness.
We dedicate our entire lives
to a quest only future generations might come to realize.
We build towers, temples, and telescopes
to feel closer to what is far beyond our reach—
to seek understanding,
to elevate what might otherwise seem bleak.
This is our legacy:
curiosity, ambition, relentless pursuit—
to explore beyond our current planet,
to find order in the chaotic soup.
We ask ourselves the same questions, over and over:
Where did the universe come from?
Does it have a beginning or an end?
What happened at the beginning?
How do time and travel fit in?
We re-imagine our civilization
and wonder what more we can do.
As we orbit Sagittarius A*,
on a fixed loop
26,000 light-years away,
new ideas emerge here on Earth.
Are we just another program
executing commands,
still stuck on the backs of turtles,
infinitely spiraling down?
Comments
Post a Comment