Veins & Moons

I was thinking recently about how temporary we are. Before I go into it, I want to just let you know that I'm going to talk about death and space and time here, and if those topics make you wobbly or uncomfortable I don't want you to read this. There is also some mention of bodily mechanics and blood. I wanted to talk about ways of thinking about our existence that help and comfort me, but I don't want to upset anyone who might find those ideas uncomfortable. Please exercise caution and don't read this post unless you feel confident about doing so. With that said, I'm going to continue.

I've always found the thought of how big space is really comforting. I look out at the sky at night and am comforted no matter what, whether I can see the moon, the stars, or just an empty blackness. It's like a blanket to me, almost like a presence somehow. Carl Sagan's whole thing about how we're made of stardust taps into that too. I think he was also delighted to be from a little blue dot wrapped in the vastness of space.

I saw an old picture the other day of someone who is now no longer alive, and in the picture you could see clearly a vein on his neck. I felt really moved to see that. It felt strange looking at this person, and this undeniable evidence of his life and a core element of what kept it there. I was stunned by it, maybe because I don't usually notice anyone's veins, so when I do it's such a clear symbol of how fragile and temporary life is. It's a visceral thing to see, the places which allow blood to travel through the body. I'm a bit scared by blood and the thought of it, so maybe it has another layer of awe because of that, but that image stuck with me.

Later I thought of it again while I was getting out of the bath, warm and tired and with my legs reddened by the hot water. I remembered that vein and how his body doesn't exist any more, and I thought about how someday I won't exist any more, and some day no one I know will, and I thought to myself that "nothing really matters". I won't deny the sadness in it, but at the same time it's such a freeing thought. Nothing matters when faced with that. There is something beautiful about it to me, and when thinking like this I could almost believe in anything. I could talk to the sky like its a friend. Nothing is real and nothing matters, yet all of history and all of these memories are here like pearls hidden in my heart.