When I gaze at the sky, I feel wonder and awe. I feel divine for it is I who peers into the universe and ponder its mysteries and not the universe, despite its age and size which has the gift of thought. And yet, I feel so incredibly insignificant, that I am certain that I am nothing more than a probabilistic certainty - a blip in time and space and nothing more. I witness the unraveling of the threads of the fabric of creation with our sciences, and what is revealed is marvelous. The order of the universe is incredible and the sheer probability of life, no matter how infinitesimal, flowers all around me with prolific diversity. The grasp of our mind fascinates me, and yet, so overwhelmed am I , that I cannot even begin to understand the great scale of 'existence'. I struggle with my fascinating but feeble mind to grasp the edge of our sciences, and wonder about the corners we have painted ourselves into - where we struggle to reconcile our understanding into a consistent theme. And, I wonder, what's beyond this wall? Would our purpose be any clearer if we are able to see that the fundamental forces of our nature are indeed facets of the same multi-dimensional object?
In this absence of a solid understanding of our creation, must we turn to god for salvation? Is it not a web of lies meant to console and numb our minds? For it is one thing to see the hand of a creator in the incredible juxtaposition of circumstances that make this rant possible, but it is quite another to peddle fiction of the elaborate stairways to heaven, and all the fine ornamentation of a god-fearing life lead on the way to eternal bliss .
It's my hypothesis that fear above all other things drives our conception of a creator - specifically a benevolent creator - purveyor of all things that provide said bliss. Given our infinite curiosity, we peel back the layers of our universe one thin sheet at a time, but forever aware of the dark shroud that separates us from absolute truths. And in this darkness I fear that my soul will extinguish with so many questions unanswered. And that old man , dying in his bed, will be all too aware, that in the 10 billion years of known existence there will never be anything like that tiny blip ever again. And in the end, will another one of us embrace one of the many hands that reach out with false tales of a 'chance to persevere' beyond his last breath?
