Thoughts: 2022-03-28. The Fountain of Youth

I am going to preface this poem. I think that it can read to be a negative type thing, and I want to make the argument that it is not. So let’s talk about some things right out of the gate. One: I don’t think it is controversial to state that at some point our sun is going to burn out. That makes sense. I think people have a different ability to come to terms with what is happening outside of our solar system.

Two: We (nerds) think the universe is expanding and that the expansion is accelerating. It is possible that the expansion will slow down and stop, but currently it would appear that it is not slowing down. Now look up in the sky and imagine a future in which the universe continues to expand at an accelerating rate. Actually, you could even freeze the expansion rate at whatever it currently is at. So imagine that future earth and look up at the sky. What do you see?

Assuming the galaxy is not expanding like the universe and the stars inside our galaxy are relatively stable in space with regard to each other, the only thing that would be different is that every galaxy that has traveled far enough that it is outside the reach of the speed of light is now invisible. That means far fewer galaxies in the sky. Translation, less stars. Now assuming the galaxy is expanding like the universe, that means all the stars too far away will also be gone. Imagine that. Big empty space. A sky as black as coal. Blacker really.

During the intervening years between our current sky and the future one, how many stars will go super nova? All those stars are now gone. Also the stars that were too small and simply burned out. End result? Less stars. Assuming resources in the galaxy are finite, which it stands to reason they are, then at some point all the hydrogen gets burned up. What does that mean? No stars in the sky, no galaxies, that is called the heat death of the universe. Just a vast cold space. All burnt out. Spent. Expired. Dead.

This was a long exercise in putting forward a grim premise, namely, that our universe is finite, as is, by extension, the galaxy, and that means everything dies, at some point. Now, barring some other dimension, such as heaven or hell or Elysium or whatever, that spells the end of humanity. It spells the end of everything. Travel to that point now and ask yourself, who is there to assess the past? Nobody. The past is gone, along with the stars. It is like an atheist dying, or the years before their birth. Empty, a void, nothing. No witness = no crime.

Now I don’t know about heaven and hell and Elysium, what I know is my life before I was born, and I don’t remember much from then. So if it stands to reason, and I think it does, that after I die will be much like before I was born then it also stands to reason that once the universe dies it will be much like before it was born. That means there is no witness to you, the universe and everything. Pressure is off folks.

Now I know, this seems grim, but to me it is not. It makes sense to me and it gives me comfort. It means that we are free, truly free, to do what we think is right and to not worry about the time after we are gone. It means that all mistakes are forgiven and in the end we are equal to the stars. We are born of stardust and in the end that is all we will be. A cold snowball of stardust in space. I find comfort in that.

I find comfort in thinking that if I try to do what is right and succeed that is great, and if I try to do what is right and fail, that is okay too, because I don’t think we are born perfect (maybe we are and we just turn to shit after birth) and up until now I have not met anybody who is perfect. I anticipate a lot of intervening years before that person shows up to say hi. To me that is okay. I forgive my friends and I forget my foes. I hope you forgive me, but don’t forget me, not just yet.

The Fountain of Youth

What was Ponce De Leon’s great folly?

Searching for a fountain of quenchless water?

Like a kid lit up on Molly,

As rambunctious as an otter;

But The proof is in the pie;

Just let the puppy lie,

No matter how you try,

Once at the end you’ll die.

Ask the sun as it burns down it’s fuel,

Ask the black hole at the galaxy center,

The truth, our mistress, is cruel

There’s no paradise to enter.

God can take you there

The mystics do declare.

All you have to do is bear

Faith’s blank, and spaced out stare.

Go and ask Anyone, Anyplace

In the empty heat death in vast and barren space

There is no pocket ace

There is no secret shake

No boundless space

No mystic place

We leave no trace

There is No Human Race.