Dreams in the eddies of nothing
Swirling like leaves
In the currents of time,
Fashioned by chance,
Dancing as if real,
But eventually melting
Into the ether
They were fashioned.
For their substance
When I was younger I used to do a lot of wondering and playing with the essence of reality. It intrigued me.
We sit on a minor rock on the edge of a second-rate galaxy, in the midst of trillions of such galaxies that have been around for billions of years and we like to imagine it was all put on for our benefit.
It came from nothing and will return to nothing. In billions of years’ time the lights will all go out.
Our consciousness has evolved to see it, experience it in all its wonder, but consciousness is merely a blip.
When all sentience has died will the universe still exist?