The Endless Something

We humans, we humans are sitting in the dark, staring out at the darkness; breathing. We build up fires to light the way, but beyond the light we make, there is only more darkness and void. Some of us walk through it, unafraid and willing, curious and interested at what might be out there. Apathetic to what might not want to be discovered, giving in to the cold caress of 2am. While others sit and stare into the black, the weight of flickering shadows resting heavily on their shoulders and their hearts. Afraid, and creative, stories, excuses, reasons to substitute for the truth they cannot yet discover sit within their heads.

They panic at the darkness and the endless superior void, so scared of what we cannot yet see clearly or comprehend the way that we would like that they create a curtain from there imaginations and the possibility of the darkness beyond. Something to shield their eyes, something simple and complete. Nothing half formed or unfathomable. A perfect god. A reason. A sin. An invisible voice telling you, rewarding you, speaking scripted words that everything is going to be okay. Those who do wrong will be punished the way they thought they ought to be punished, and you will be rewarded the way that they thought you ought to be rewarded and everything is going to be alright. It will be fine, says the benevolent god, you will be forgiven.

And in the darkness there are the people. Some peer behind the curtains and into the endless something. And some do not. And they scowl at each other from across the space they share, but still hope for unification in their largely similar humanity.

The darkness remains dark, all deep and impossible and indifferent, dwelling in the possibility of something else. Something bigger, something braver, the perfect god, the imperfect man, the articulation of the fear, the curtain, the window, unable to be undressed by a single word or soul.

And all the people sit in their darkness, being different and unique and scared. With their children and their friends and families, and their hopes and dreams and opinions and thoughts. And the humans hold each other and push each other away in fear and distress and anger and a thousand more incomprehensible reasons, than neither make sense, nor should.

Some scream into the endless silence, some whisper barely a word, each noise echoing into what we haven’t found yet, marking the universe in a thousand different, silent ways, shaping it, changing it, making it better, making it worse.

Children of the universe in motion.

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