The many heart whelming wonderments on grand and open display on Earth, and the countless thrilling prospects for life that, by courageous pursuit gifts curiosity, most terribly can not all be heeded. Not in the one tiny lightning span of furiously and incrementally dying star-matter, ye speck of darting ideas and burning unanswerable yearning, – all the age of the cats-eye cosmos in which you drift reproachingly dispossessed is meager. And with this impermanence of everything except desires capacity, rides a horridness and beatitude of the matters marble finality, in swirls of knotted letting go, and inconsolable affections.
It was under a glaze of April stars a bright man once said in passing, ”you do not need to know it all, but you need to know that it exists,” and with his cryptic wistful knowledge of a liquid future, folded into the arms of Autumn night forever. And standing there at the forests mouth fixed on the abyss of living shadows for what seemed an unverifiable lastingness, trying to anything from nothing decide when suddenly it fell to my senses to interpret a grave impossible error realised. All that ecstasy of hope and youthful nonchalance became an unconvincing foothold on a berg, and peering out from the precipice, was a stare that resembled the cold recognition of an unquestionable period in loom. Clean of its laughter, gloom and growth, the entire globes face shall be wiped, – all myth, ambition, strife and persevering preciousness overlapped, and a new transience for a time will flourish with the same world-old obvious riddles that have been only now to you unveiled and will as ever ensue. Against this, have you no recourse. Fortune abides no finery of preference upon whom perceives the tenure either an absurd string of predestined miracles, or an accidental monotony of spilled instances and interactions. These things that ne’er may be considered save by who withdraws from the spinning to contemplate the sentiments of his sentient fraction of forever. While for some, fettered up in some distracting drudgery or other the glimpse will not occur. The portals, will simply close unnoticed and with them gone that chance particular for a vision different if at least not better. But you, bursting, all exulting traveller, for whom the sheerness and extent of eternal synergy is unbearably inaccessible; how dreadfully fatal to admit that could anything be for nought on a lumbering sphere, wading mute with its meaninglessness across a pool of black infinity. So you’ve applied your fantastic and rhythmless imagination to making do, – with its vastness of irrational potency, the source of both your cleanest and most contagious of rejoices, and severest despairing. Well sir, after the crash and fallout, and gravity of presupposed pointlessness, some of us kept on wondering; and so we keep wandering, so as not to have missed a single worthwhile thing.