Behold a Giant Muh

This Slavery, This Violence

I write this as my wife is suffering, in agony, with another serious infectious illness. It is a reminder, as are many things, that we are all human, that we are all bound by gravity, mortality, reality.

The life of a cloud is a microcosm for our own lives. Here, then gone.

I read yesterday that the last World War I veteran died yesterday at the age of 110. If that isn’t sobering and humbling, nothing is. The smallest and the mightiest of that great war are all – all – gone. Each was once a baby, once a child playing, once a young adult, loving, living, having fun, suffering, dreaming.

If it seems like a kind of violence or slavery, we might take some comfort in the notion that death is, ultimately, in the long term, fair, and in a very scientific way, not the end of us. The matter and energy of our bodies and minds remains here in the world.

As our world, and all worlds, move inexorably toward the heat death of the Universe, it becomes obvious that the ultimate destination for all of us, and everything, is nothingness.

Today I am oddly comforted by this idea.

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