Going

October 5 2018

I asked Siri for the most stable thing on earth, and was astonished by the complexity of that which has to be considered. I am not interested by how long it tales the isotopes of barium or lead to decay.

But why do I ask? I want to make marks on a piece of whatever that substance is, something to show that I was, and that I was here, marks that will last till the end of time. Something like the impulse that provokes “Kilroy was here”. This has become of interest to me as I perceive the acceleration of the phenomenon of fading, which is surely happening, however slowly.

For the sake of poetry, I will say that that stable element is a bar of platinum sealed in a vacuum at absolute zero. There we have it. And what will the marks that I leave be? Well, all of these ruminations, to start. But these electronic scribbles in the cloud are hardly a lasting mark on a platinum bar, no?

Perhaps I will loose my hand to inscribe an extravagant gesture flung into space, a line of beauty and power, having no words or thought ascribed. Intricate tracery etched on a bubble of time, will that last? Surely not, like frost on a cold window it will fade almost immediately.

Why? What is it about the nature of this entity called myself that thinks that any trace should last past the end of the organism? Is it the hope for everlasting life? (And why would any sensible person want that?) Is it the programming that instills the notion that “I came here to make a difference”? To make a difference implies that as-it-is is somehow imperfect as it is and needs changing. Or that I came here at all? Was there an “I” that could choose to come?

While I’m here my task is to manifest the universe from this particular point of view, and when I’m gone it will not be an issue.