Were We Ever Really Anything Important?
I think the world has calmed down, now that it's all about to end. Once people realized there was nothing to fight over, they eventually settled down and gave in. Realized that we were never meant to last forever, just until our world ran out. And now that our little blue ball suspended in space is finally about to fall, a quietness has settled over it. The type of quietness that hasn't been heard since it first began to spin.
I think about all of this as I sit in the park on a hill with my blanket and my ice cream and wait. The world is about to end in an hour or so and I couldn't think of anywhere else to be. It's nice, though. It's warm, but not hot. The sun is high and bright fluffy clouds hang over us, invitingly, like a soft white pillow where we can finally lay our heads after eons of chaos and unrest. There's a slight breeze rippling the uncut grass, rustling the tree leaves. It is a beautiful day for the world to end.
But it makes you wonder, doesn't it? What was this all about? What was the purpose of all of this? Were we ever really anything important? Were we an experiment in ethics set in motion by some unseen creator and now that he has all the data he needs, is it time for his experiment to end?
Were we a random accident? An accidental looping sequence of chemicals converted in on itself and producing more sequences that in turn produce more until a being is created; a living, thinking being. Has our sequence run out?
Are there other worlds like ours? Are they about to face the same end as us or are our clocks different? Are they just beginning as we're about to end? Is there another me sitting in a park waiting for the world to start? Are we even similar at all?
Maybe we're a thought; the dream of some god, or ape, or termite, or maybe even Time itself and any minute now a bell will sound and he will awake and struggle out of bed. Go on with his day and try to recall bits and pieces a very important seeming dream. He won't remember any of the significant or major stuff, but just small things; the way the wind moved through the trees or the sound a rock makes as it disappears beneath the surface of a shimmering lake. The touch of another person's skin or the warmth of their breath. The strangeness behind another's eyes or a love that you can feel radiating from the heart. But of course that's the nature of dreams, only half remembered and constantly fleeting. So much so that eventually he'll give up, move on, because it was just a dream, it wasn't anything really important at all.