Miracles

In which I consider the nature of hope

This is the gap filled by gods.

Or if not gods, then magic.

Or if not magic, then convincingly futuristic sounding “medicine”.

Or if not futuristic medicine, then convincingly ancient sounding “medicine”.

This is the gap that bleeds hope.

It exists in our minds alone. The world gives little care for concepts like ‘unfairness’ or ‘undeserving’.

The world just is. And sometimes we cannot trace our patterns of meaning over its contours.

The gap is vulnerable. It wants to be filled. Like a child it reaches for anything that comes into its vicinity.

And there are always those with a shark’s sense for blood.

They will circle when hope cries out, carefully brewed oil of snake or poisoned apple in hand. They wear a mask of utmost sympathy, and speak with the zeal of one with absolute fact at their back.

And what can hope do but reach for a taste?

Charms, crystals, prayers, herbs, mysterious energy reading machines – just a little more, just a little longer, one more day-month-year. The cure lies just around the corner.

‘Lies’ being the operative word.

The gap hungers, whimpers, so tired of the ache of hoping yet never quite fulfilling.

Yet if we let gods, magic, mysticism, or alternative medicines pass us by, what balm can soothe the gap?

I fill my gap with my own absolute insignificance.

With the scale of this planet, the solar system, the galaxy, the universe. With the incredible statistical feat of my existence. With the duration of my life against the age of the Sun. With the breathtaking beauty of a world that will continue to rotate uncaring and unaware of the motes that scatter its surface.

It is here that I find comfort. Meaning in the absolute meaningless of space. For all that humanity builds or destroys, our wars, our discoveries, our loves and joys, those we laud or despise, we are but a blink. Everything we know and discover is incredible, and yet utterly insignificant against all that we do not know.

My gap overflows. 

And though this may not find cures or solutions, there is a peace that comes with perspective. Yes, I am insignificant. But how wonderful it is to have the capacity to think that thought. 

How lucky I am to have my blink of existence.

7 Comments

  1. Another home run! Personally I related in a most outwardly unsound way. My takeaway: We—and by we I mean not just you and me but any creator who even in roundabout way grapples with the idea of Creator and our insignificance to it—we absorb this similar wavelength which medically speaking looks like “depression,” but inactuality is a trading of worldly remedy for a dark brilliance, thus letting insignificance itself be the doorway to higher plane of existence. Although, I will say, offing yourself is cheating, so then living with that dark brilliance, with all its upheavals, offers others an insight to that plane. I hope but am sure that made sense.

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    1. Thanks so much for the thoughts Jonathan! (particularly re offing onself 😛 ) I think there’s something about creativity requiring you to access the places and feelings that it might sometimes be healthier to skim over, or to ignore. I think it’s also about being able to zoom in and out, from the simplest misplaced hair, to a supernova – it is all part of the universe, but our brains struggle to hold the sheer magnitude of that at once. Yet it all coexists. Magic of another kind.

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