|We swim water that's there, where we must.|
See it's what YOU think that matters as you make your feelings known. Would you accept your lot in life believing you're alone?
Alone in all the cosmos? Alone to contemplate? Alone to go un-witnessed as you seek some pointless fate? Alone in sad indifference? Alone to count your beads, alone to be ... oh, good or bad—or something in between?
Alone to count your blessings? Alone to feel cursed? Alone to be respected, glad, or disrespected — hurt? Alone in satisfaction, or alone to be without? Alone in suffered silence... ...alone to scream and shout?
Alone in yawning vastnesses, we'd BE anomaly. We'd be... just freaks of nature in some grand futility. Alone—in matchless time—our candle sputters in a wind we shall not know the source of, and then break were we to bend.
No, alone we have no measure. Alone, we make no sense. Alone, we are a bubble set to pop in sad pretense. Alone we've no authority. Alone we come up short. Alone, there is temptation to believe our own reports.
See, alone we have no reason to behave as would be best. Alone's the lower standard, so we fail every test! Alone, it's like we have no point. Alone, we are forlorn. Alone, we are as good as dead. Alone? Then, why be born?
It just won't make a shred of sense, pretending we're alone. It staggers one's credulity if that's what you condone.
Life, it seems, must find some way; that's what it does on Earth! It's found in fiery fumaroles, or upon some snowy perch. It somehow lives through ANY strife, be it asteroid or ice. It finds its way, and it survives by paying ANY price!
Given all its grand success, right here on planet Earth, I've reasoned that it's just no stretch that, elsewhere? There's no dearth!
Life, if NOT space-faring, is as thick as fleas on dogs—vermin gassed indifferently by their errant *human* gods. Life will find a way, it seems, through all which comes undone, and will then sense, at last, the sky... ...beyond this "song just sung." Time is just so damned immense, and bigger every DAY is the space that would enclose it—all the egg-heads write and say...
I find it too damned reasonable, when I understand its depth—that if, in fact, we ARE alone? We'll die a slow-rot death.
I've said it before, I know, but even if we WERE alone (...forgetting that this is bereft of certainty given the historical, anecdotal, physical, and photographic evidence...) it would make much more sense to conduct our affairs... as if... we were NOT alone.
We'd treat each other better, I'm betting. There would be more open toleration and cooperation. We'd SEED the asteroid belt, and make it a living ring around its star? The Earth becomes a respected garden instead of a squandered gift? Mars, and perhaps a few moons of Jupiter and Saturn support an efficacious, inspired, and creative humankind? We'd be happier?
I suspect so. Whatever the result, we wouldn't have our eggs in one basket. We need to spread out. Presently one "grenade" would get us all, eh?