Cosmic Humility is the acceptance of ourselves and the whole of humankind existing utterly without cosmic significance or purpose. To become humble in the cosmic sense, is to relieve one’s self from the duty of searching for something that is not there. I advise all of my fellow readers and subversives to retire, to put their feet up, to not worry, to gaze upon the great abyss of an infinite cosmos with reverent wonder, and despite all injuries to the petty, Earthbound ego, to remain cosmically humble.
Intelligent Loneliness in a Nation of Group-Think
“Freedom is not free”, or so this common bumper sticker slogan so adamantly informs me. Immediately, images of terrible bloodshed and death in foreign jungle lands are supposed to come to one’s mind. Americans often place this mindless patriotic sticker next to “Home of the Brave” and “Jesus is God”, along with skewed images of a mundane crucifix plastered along the bumper somewhere. We are a strange, militant and superstitious people indeed! Within this nationalistic environment, this narrow-minded air, the intelligent man or woman must inevitably suffer a unique form of loneliness.
A Point of Pride
Ever make a turd so big, you wished it had an accompanying bathroom audience so that it could be applauded? It is a shame when something we’ve created (perhaps through great constipation — Err, I mean, consternation) goes so thoroughly unseen and unappreciated except by our lonely selves. It seems a shame to flush the baby immediately upon birth. It has only just begun to live! Secretly, we want to share our great shits with the world and receive some deserved recognition for it — especially when we’ve Ker-plunked a really good one. A point of pride, you see. A point of pride.
A Red Blotch on the Cosmic Sunday Tie
The most persistent delusion which humankind perpetuates is the idea that humankind shall endure forever and has nearly always endured, in practical terms. The masses of Earth come and go in one chaotic, undulating ocean of short-lived years and consistently tend to retain this delusion that we are the complete beginning and end of all history — that history, all 14 billion cosmic years of it, somehow belongs within the confines of our mortal possessions. History to our (mostly) unthinking species is like a nice 1960’s muscle car, or a really big mansion. History is a material thing which can be replenished, reupholstered, and/or otherwise preserved for all time. When in reality, humanity is but a tiny red blotch, a minute and practically imperceptible stain upon the Infinite Cosmos’ Sunday Tie. Meanwhile, the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies slowly but surely drift toward each other like inevitable glaciers…Eternity yawns and consumes the eyeblink existence of the human Ego with perfect and effortless ease.