Genius by Stephen Hawking was on the tube last night. It's a PBS broadcast, a television show which poses a scientific problem and teaches average people to "think like geniuses" in order to solve it. Last night's episode explored the universe, asked the question that niggles at the back of all our minds--are we alone.
Hawking and the participants began with an examination of the immensity of our galaxy, the 100 billion stars that comprise it. Comparing our sun to a grain of sand (can you imagine it on your fingertip?), the participants created a stunning visual representation of the number of starts in the Milky Way, dumping ton after ton of sand on the ground. The pile spread out, rose to a height of over eight feet, maybe ten. Grain after grain represented a star; star after star represented the possibility of life; possibility after possibility expanded my imagination (in common parlance, I might say "blew my mind"). And in that moment, I felt a wash of emotion. I felt grateful.
There are, perhaps, infinite worlds in the universe, each world comprised of infinite number of atomic particles. Time--isn't it infinite, too? Isn't it true that my own atomic particles could have been spread across the galaxy, could have existed as a moon orbiting Uranus? Couldn't my particles have existed millions of years ago, millions of years in the future? The building blocks of my life--what if they had been space dust? Couldn't yours have been? Sure, this is all speculation and conjecture, but I suppose that in the universe of possibilities, these possibilities are among them. And despite all of these possibilities--the infinite, boundless, inanimate possibilities--I am here, typing on this keyboard. You are here, reading the words. We are here together, two collections of innumerable possibilities sharing this space and time.
Welcome Time Travelers.
When I consider the immensity of the galaxy, the billions of stars comprising the Milky Way (not to mention the 100 billion trillion stars in the universe), when I consider the boundlessness of time (prehistoric and historic) it's unfathomable that I was given this passage on Earth. It's astounding that I have a lover, four children, a job, and two dogs. Is it possible that I'm working on a meager retirement? How is it that I'm paying down a kind, if not modest, house? How do my lungs work, work, work without thinking. How does my heart pump, it's rhythm in my ears when my head hits the pillow? How do I sleep, dream, wake? How am I now, both volitional and autonomic?
Surely there is a God.
I have a life of tiny blessings. I live among billions of others with their own tiny blessings. (Aren't these blessings nothing more than possibilities existing by divine providence. Is there any other explanation?) We are small specks, traveling on a small speck, around a speck of a star, in a speck of a solar system, during a speck of time. Everything here--life, time, humanity, the ability to possess and dispose of possessions--is a speck-worthy miracle.
Be grateful for this miracle. Make love. (Do not be afraid of this pleasure.) Hug your children. Pet your dog. Buy ice cream. Star gaze. People watch. Self examine. Love the tiny explosions that animate you--explosions of love, happiness, anger, and sorrow. Look at your watch. Count ten seconds. Know that each second is another tiny miracle. Bless the divine. Search for it, even among the possibilities.
Live to the end.
Sing your doxologies.
Thanks for stopping in! If you enjoy reading here, sign up to receive my bi-monthly Tiny Letter. If you sign up, you'll receive my free eBook, Coming Clean|Austin Outtakes.