Spacetime and Staying Alive

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Time flies, we do not understand what it is, but we know it flies, rolling, tumbling, creaking across old floors on monsoon nights, rendering life lifeless, selves lost, and newfound, stars are born, people pass, forgotten to the winds. Time, is thus, always running, but is it running out? We now know time is relative, your perception of movement across the time axis depends on your vantage point on the space derivative. However, does that imply the passage of time is solely dependent on the observer or is it only what the observer sees? If time is defined as a function of motion and happenstance, what would it look like in a cosmos where nothing happened?

Let us take Einstein’s word for it and assume it to be a distortion of the space-time entity, how do we then define space? It is theorized, all we know of the observable universe was once condensed in an infinitesimal true point mass, which then expanded, but what did it expand into? The boundary conditions of the universe, Hawking stated, are such that there are none, space warps back in on itself, but through what? If that is so, then upon what does space exist, if we take the easy way out and say space is everything, how big is everything? We do not know. Our minds cannot process the concept of “everything”.

Our contemplations grow far and grand, thoughts of eternity and everything, for the fleeting flicker humanity has flourished on our lovely little rock, we have never known, but we longed to. Dispositions humbled by each new discovery overwhelmed and enveloped by our own insignificance, and the vast nature of all we could now see, disillusioned. We now knew that we did not know, and we turned inwards. People built heroes, gods, demigods, perfect people, imperfect people; our heroes changed us as much as we changed them, but they remained. The ideal being with glorious purpose and divine tidings, to the reluctant hero, as impossible to generalize as the minds who dreamt them into being. From the beginning, we were afraid, our ancestors were scared of the dark outside their caves. We have grown on that and diversified into a vast plethora of fears, some mundane, others profound. We gave our heroes purpose because we were scared of never having any, we drew them in with courage and added moral redemption, peace at the end, all we wanted. Over 5 millennia of art, and stories, looking for the why of our existence, we still do not know. People begin, they fade, there is no grand point to being, some say, the poet burns out, fades away the same as he who never looked outside his hole, there is no point to leaving legacies, stories fade, what then, remains the point of having done any of it, of our music, our pain, joy, the sum total of life? The answer is not fulfillment, nor suffering, no one who is in love, is so sanely, at the end of it all, in our truest hour, we create not for satisfaction, we bleed for it is the only purpose we know, for the sake of staying alive, through all it takes, art is an act of desperation, essential as breathing itself. Why it is, we still do not know, humanity is a strange young species, if we weren’t staying alive, we’d be dead is all. Death, as morbid the concept seems, is a truth, and in our short time here, we do things, we love, we live without the slightest idea why, except for the sole purpose of being alive.

The Byronic model of existence, of tragic beauty, is no farce of idealism, art does permeate life, for all we feel but do not know, it is related back to us, our pain, and hope as a species, keeps us together. Our ignorance, and inherent curiosity, the courage, and foolishness that came along, allow us an unusually personal perspective of it all, because of our involvement in the grand business of life, we have a say. It is not important for everyone to quit their day jobs in favor of what is traditionally considered art, nor is it advisable. The world still needs lawyers, and doctors, construction men, and all we choose to need and be, however, it is essential to keep in mind the fragile nature of our species, our world, to treat people with kindness, be foolish every once in a while, and look to the stars, in love with a universe we may never understand, and breathe.

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