A small fragment of rock,
like an airless planet
erratically circling the sun.
From before the land weathered
the mountains cooled,
before plants, animals
man.
I imagine an ancient remnant,
craggy, black
and infinitesimal,
when it crossed paths
with us,
barely touched
the outer atmosphere.
Where it skimmed, like a skipping rock,
stray molecules of air
sparking-off
its hard glassy surface.
It lasted
for a second, or so
just as I looked skyward,
flaring up
in the brilliant dark
against a million points of light.
That sleepless night,
seeking a sign
some higher power.
A cold black cinder
which was not a star
and did not fall
but intersected blindly.
A billion years
extinguished in a blink of light;
a smudge of heat, a puff of ash
too small to matter.
And was I the only witness
glancing up
that fateful instant?
Or was another privileged to see
the enormous sky
its vast indifference?
How dare I think
the universe would answer me,
take note
that I existed.
The day I wrote this I had been listening to a radio documentary about religion; various people talking about their search for transcendence, surrender to faith, or disillusion. This particular man spoke about looking for a sign, and seeing -- as if right on cue -- a highly visible shooting star. But he wasn't ready, and -- laughing at himself -- thought he'd be the typical Jew and go for 2 out of 3. (As a "Jewish atheist", I can take the liberty of repeating this in its proper self-deprecating spirit!) Of course, the next time, exactly the same thing happened. So, he joked, what choice did he have?
Where I live, the skies are relatively free of light pollution. On cloudless nights, the stars can be brilliant, and shooting stars (falling stars?) no at all unusual. So I'd certainly be loath to attach my fate to something so commonplace.
A recurring theme in my more philosophical pieces is a militant atheism and suspicion of faith that veers toward the nihilistic. The ending here revisits that theme: how infinitesimally small and insignificant we are in a cold indifferent universe. Complementing this is a related theme: how magical thinking about a higher power -- not to mention the self-referential thinking of a personal relationship with God (even worse than the medieval earth-centric universe, a "me"-centric one) -- is closer to narcissism than it is to the humble submission earnest believers seek.
No comments:
Post a Comment