Stretch Marks of the Universe

I've always felt that life as we know it began as it was expelled from the womb of the universe after a troubled pregnancy where the fetus, not yet born was already thrashing and railing against existence. The identity of the force that impregnated the universe with life doesn't really matter as far as I can tell. Who or whatever it was, it apparently had serious commitment issues because it bugged the fuck out as soon as the universe pissed a positive test for life. With no other choice but to see it through to the end, the universe groaned and bled a labor that lasted billions of years. Holding life against its breast, I have a feeling that the universe struggled to tell the difference between life and the bloody dark afterbirth that is death.

So, like any single mom, the universe was handed the task of nurturing life alone. Oh, she did the best she could, but let's face it. Life is chaos. It is supremely beautiful and profoundly ugly. It is as gentle as a feather's touch, but also revels in the fires, storms, and quakes of destruction. Life can love, it can hate. It can be profoundly indifferent which might be worse than even the darkest emotion. Life is brilliance and total stupidity. Life can bow its head in wise humility recognizing the benefits of change and it can arrogantly refuse to accept anything but stagnation.

What happens when the mechanisms that keep life breathing, fucking, pollenating, shitting, thinking, growing, creating, and destroying grind to a halt? Does it matter? In our foolishness, we sentient things seek to find meaning in why we're here or we pray that we fall within the benevolent graces of some deity. It's all a waste of time. Life is reciprocal in nature. The flower's nectar feeds the bees, the bees assist flowers in procreation by spreading the flower's gametes in the form of pollen from flower to flower. The reciprocal relationship insures that there will be both future generations of bees and flowers. Like the mutually beneficial relationship between bee and flower, humanity thrives when those who know teach the ignorant, those who have food feed those who are starving, and those who are strong lift up those who're weak. Helping others is one way sentient lifeforms nurture their sense of self while unconsciously heeding the natural reciprocity that affects all life. In addition, the nature of life is chaos and circumstances are never concrete. Those who have today may lack tomorrow and may then receive the help from those they helped in the past.

For those who seek meaning and reward from a deity, they act like a hamster on a wheel. They expend a lot of energy, but go nowhere. In the case of the Judeo-Christian God, everything is known from beginning to end by the God of the universe. This god knew Adam and Eve would disobey him and partake of the forbidden fruit. He knew Jesus would be crucified. He knows the end result of Armageddon. I'm also guessing he knows when or if the Detroit Lions will ever win a Super Bowl. If this is the case, our paths are set. No mystery there. No way to find a different bus to the great beyond. We will either enter the gates of heaven or be tossed into the furnaces of hell. Free will is only truly free if the end isn't preordained and known by a god(s). So, if Judeo-Christianity is correct, our tickets are punched already. It makes no sense to tie ourselves in knots trying to placate a being who had made its decisions before life existed. Still, try not to be a dick.

We all would like to think that something of us lingers once life has ran its course. Ghost, spirit, or a mass of pure memory and emotion that somehow joins the collective memories of all life that came before. I don't know if any of this is true. I know I exist now and can influence things now, so I choose to focus on that which is a given, not on the theoretical that can only be proven once I have no way to communicate if it is the truth or not. Frankly, I don't believe in ghosts or restless spirits. Why? Think about it. If ghosts existed, then the estimated ninety million thoroughly pissed Indigenous people that the Europeans slaughtered over two centuries would've made Little Big Horn look like a sorority slumber party by now. Us pasty white European types would've gotten a ghostly eviction notice way before the twentieth century. Sorry, no ghosts no matter what those stupid, fake ghost chasing shows might compel you to believe.

In short, life is the product of the universe's one night stand with an unknown entity that split as soon as the universe started craving chocolate, black hole and asteroid pudding with chunks of quasars mixed in. Trying to find meaning in life, if there is an epilogue after the flat line, or if your great-great-great-great-great grandpa haunts the location of the brothel where he got a fatal dose of drippy dick is pointless. What matters is the known. I know I can be kind. I know I can help others. I know I can speak out against the wrongs of this world. I can focus on the concrete, the obtainable, and hope that if there is an afterlife I can avoid the whole torturous, wailing, nashing of teeth, and pitchfork in the ass for all eternity place.