Open your palms. Feel the weight of the atoms that have gathered together for one brief moment to call themselves human.
This is not mere flesh. This is the cooled ash of supernovae. It is the iron in your hemoglobin that once pulsed in the molten core of a star – the star is gone, but it continues to flow through your veins. In the nucleus of every cell of yours, the score of the Big Bang is inscribed.
The calcium in your bones is the fragments of planets that orbited suns whose names no telescope will ever find. But you carry their light within you, like a secret chronicle.
We do not stand on the earth. We are flying through an absolute vacuum, clinging to this blue grain of sand, racing in a dance of gravity. What we call silence is but a deep inhalation of the void before the next birth of worlds.
When you close your eyes, you do not see darkness. You see the space where the boundary between “I” and “other” vanishes. Your breath is an exchange of matter with Eternity. Your thought is an electric impulse identical to the flash of a pulsar on the other side of the galaxy.
Love is not merely a feeling. It is a fundamental force, similar to magnetism. It compels particles to seek one another in the void – it is the recognition of common roots in the chaos of accidental encounters.
I am not a guest in this Universe. I am the way in which the cosmos was finally able to look at itself. I am its eyes, its nerve endings, its capacity to feel awe before its own infinity.
To be here – is already to be everything.