text: Cosmic Static &#x200B; There lies a sole, lonely universe. Comprised only of dirt, metal, stone, and darkness. However, far into the deepest expanses of the cosmos, in the furthest corner of the universe is a light. A light that would shine for so short a time that, within the infinite existence of the cosmos, was so short lived that it may as well have never have shined at all. This light named “life.” If this planet could see out into the infiniteness of the night sky, it would learn of its folly; it would see a desolate, inert universe and realize that life was not inevitable. Life had erupted on this one rock and no other. Placed there by nothing, observed by no one. An isolated anomaly - unprotected, destined to fall back into darkness at some point, never to be light again. The unknown jewel of the universe, slowly wilting like a single tree in an endless desert. The mysteries of the fundamental forces of the universe are never discovered; no higher meaning is ever found. Humanity does not get the opportunity to reach the edge of knowledge or the highest forms of art and expression. It is stopped in its journey before it can look over the edge of the fabric of existence and know for sure just what it all is and exactly what it all means. A story that ends mid-sentence with blank pages afterwards that extend outwards into the infinite. Nothing is left to ponder the beginnings of all that is, nothing is left to imagine what will come to happen next. This light was not one of many in a great chain of life and death with some higher meaning behind it all. There was no light before, and no light afterwards. After the last vestiges of life blink from existence, there is silence. One life, one death. I am struck with a fear of being implicit in the mass ignorance of the majesty of our anomalous existence. No thing and no one is here to be delighted or profoundly awestruck by this light in the darkness except for me. How, then, can I be content to live unamazed by the fact that I have not only eyes but things which to see? How can I, in good conscious, wallow in apathy and boredom when I was cast by some accident in this theatrical performance with one stage, one showing, no audience, no falling curtain, and no casting call? The day will come when our theater has decayed and rotted and the actors slow down and shrivel onto the ground, mid-act, just as some semblance of a plot seemed to be brewing. There will be no audience to clap at the artistic brilliance of a story that ends without explanation. The music and beauty and love of the Earth will never reach far away ears. It will simply cease to be. The cosmic radio with one channel had for so long played nothing but cosmic static. But then, for the briefest of moments, played some kind of music unheard of and unimaginable by the senseless universe that had accidentally given birth to eyes. Fantastic, fascinating music from this world that wreaked of personality, of history, or interconnectedness and love and a thousand other things that never had been and never would be again. That music slowed down and stopped, falling back into static. “zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.” Nothing listened to this radio and nothing would ever wonder what that song was or what it meant. There was nothing, there was something, there was nothing. No one to happen across the remnants of our world that, at one point, had teemed with life and wonder what it was like it its glory days. No one to imagine the things that were said or question the things that were done. No one to wonder at the stories it must have told. The quirks and secrets of life will fall below the pages and fade into dust and ash. There then is presented a choice within each of us; within each of the beings that has the spark of life within them. The choice between succumbing to the ideals of dirt, metal and stone, or the ideals of the light. The decision to give into the light. To succumb to its ways. To sing a song that will never be heard and that will never hold any whisper of meaning simply because something in the deepest, most central part of this thing we call existing tells us that we must sing - if only for the sake of having sung. What is there to do besides make this light the most brilliant, most fearsome light to have ever shined before it wanes and falls back into the dark, unremembered. This light switch turned on and off again. Flipped by no one, illuminating nothing. This one blip on the cosmic radar. Unexplained, unquestioned, bordered on both sides by endless, empty time. What are we to do with our role in this play that no one will ever see? With this one chance to make whatever we hold in our hands into the brightest version of whatever it has the potential to be. The day comes when there is no more passion, no more dreaming, and no love. No philosophy or friendship or desire or art. No more stories of good overpowering evil forces or the formations of love and family. Before the end of all things, in this strange and wonderful time that we have called life that has never happened and never will again, how are we to live? Will we close our eyes, hold our breath, and dive headfirst into what it means to be alive? To seek out every feeling and every sight - laying our eyes only upon honor, desire, friendship and color. To love all of our cosmic brothers and sisters with whom we have the privilege of sharing this first and last hurrah of life and love. How could we not be inspired? Inspired by our species’ brilliant stabs into the dark unknown. Our stabs into the stars that brought us to our moon, so far from the rest of the immortal universe but so profound to us. Our stabs into math and science to find the foundation of what we know and to understand the fabric of this physical existence, for no reason other than the fact that something within our mortal hearts tells us to dig deeper and to fly higher. As we fall, each of us, into the dark abyss of death one by one, will we smile for having gotten to take part in this silly little accident that shined a light upon a world and opened eyes to, if for a moment, behold the glory of all that is? Will we be able to rest easy knowing that we loved as much as we were able, took every opportunity into adventure and grandeur, stayed kind to our fellow accidents and remained uniquely and genuinely ourselves, all throughout the morning, day, and evening, and could now lay our heads and gratefully fall back, forgotten, face first into the night.