We are stardust, we are a billion particles of broken suns, we are the trails of light long since scattered into nothingness, we are the everything that comes when one thing holds onto another, then another. We are the cosmos made flesh, the black holes, the supernova, we are anti-matter, we are gravity pulling until constellations take to their feet and walk forward into the darkness. We are the song sent out by radiation, by invisible beams of invisible energy, we are the humming of what we swore was emptiness, the melody of everything hiding in plain sight. We are the movement of the Earth, the spinning we forget to claim, we are the blame placed on the heavens we think rotate above us, we the still center we swear never shifts. We are the ticking of invented clocks, the manifestation of time, the creation of a word to make sense of how this skin loosens, how this hair grows long, these eyes become tired. We are the terror at returning to that nothing we forget, at the end, is something after all. We are the space between first breath and last, we are the shaking hands and voice before it becomes one, all that’s never said just as we discover sound.
We are the ooze primordial, we are the slow emergence of tails, of feet, of gills to lungs. We are the asteroid that stole life from giants that shook continents when they stumbled, we are the roar into explosion and extinction, we are the footprints and bones left behind, buried in stone and ash, hung in great halls and museums by strong wire, we are the gasping awe from young mouth at first viewing. We are the first telescopes aimed up, the twisting of the dials and the old hands fumbling for focus, we are the star charts and maps of the tiny window of space that fit above the holes in our rooftops, we are the debates, the arguments, the shouting over tabletops with fists slamming into wood, we are the drinks that spilled and papers hastily moved, we are the dare to admit we are not the center of all things, the audacity to suggest we’re smaller than we’d ever wish to utter. We are the smell of vanilla as molecules break down in the paper we write upon, we are dusty shelves and broken spines and the shuffling alphabetizing in hundreds of languages, some our own. We are the passing of knowledge, the handing down from firelight to cave wall, from stories spoken to first letters scratched into the surface and soil, into the stones, into our own skin with early ink and blood.
We are the stardust, the transformation from explosion and a force unimaginable, we are the evolution from one thing to another to another ten trillion times until we’re fingertips and language and the random ramblings of a madman on a mountaintop. We are the hope that our own light never extinguishes, that it grows until bigger than planets, than the solar system we share atoms with, we are the holding in the dark, still, after all these eons spent doing so, we are more than the gravity we blame it all on, this sticking, this desperate combining of so many things, so many pieces of starlight, so many bits of first burst of first energy in the black vacuum that came before. We are the reaching, the arms around arms and the stories we tell to make sense of the night, we are the comfort found in knowing we’re so much more than the sum, we are so much more than the parts, that in all this loneliness, we are all one thing and we always will be, that we, above all, are the universe.
We’re more than the sum
and we are more than the parts.
We’re the universe.
Song of the Week
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