If you think about it. Tiny planet spinning through the cold, silent darkness of a near infinite universe. Nuclear fires raging in the galactic night. Cosmic dust, eons old, drifting along the spiral arms of the Milky Way. Red dwarfs, dark giants, collapsed suns, black holes, dark matter streaming its way in a gigantic, rushing river of almost everything that is, unseen and seen, galloping through an endless night of light and darkness and the whisper of stars who probably know much more than they’re telling us.
Light! Light as old and older than Methuselah, streaming down through the sky and landing on our optic nerves for the very first time, even though the stars that birthed these rays are cold and dead centuries ago. We hear this music from the celestial spheres, drifting through our atmosphere, thrilling fresh and vibrant upon our senses, never heard before, but the violins are already smashed to kindling eons past…
And this is the world we live in? A world that our best and brightest minds cannot explain, other than to mutter and mumble their way through tortured theories of explosions and big bangs and perhaps aliens seeded all of this. Somehow. But where did they come from, and how, and why, and which and what?
We cannot even explain gravity. And all the while, while we still cannot explain gravity, we go merrily spinning our way through the solar system, around and around our own private nuclear furnace, 93 million miles of perfect safety. Not too hot and not too cold–just right–just like the small bear’s porridge and just like the small bear’s chair and just like the small bear’s bed.
We certainly are Goldilocks, aren’t we?
We live in a fantasy world…and the best minds cannot explain it, and the best minds cannot contain it, and the best minds cannot restrain it.
It takes less faith to believe in fantasy.