…The way I see it, this is my little flicker of existence in the vastness of all time and space. I did not live before, and I won't live again (save in certain very odd theoretical outcomes, but even then it wouldn't really be "me" per se). And I am not a rock or a tree or an amoeba. I'm not an elephant or a wolf or a skink. Out of all the things I might have been, it turns out that I am this animated collection of atoms called a human, the product of a simply mind-boggling collection of circumstances, happenstance, random (or at least stochastic) events, accident,—and the seeming nature of the universe. Here I am on this ball of minerals and other elements, with its thin layer of atmosphere, tectonic plates sliding about causing earthquakes and volcanoes as, deep in its center, some 4000 miles below my feet, its core vibrates and burns at pressures so great that the metal is forced to become a solid. And the whole thing is hurtling around a giant nuclear reactor some 93 million miles away. If you started walking and never once rested, it would take you some 4000 years to walk to the sun. And then, all of this, our little solar system, is meanwhile moving about the center of a galaxy with billions upon billions of stars—which of course I learned many years ago, watching Cosmos—and the galaxy is, itself, orbiting a common center with many other galaxies. I mean… Can you imagine it? And here we have relationships with other people just as unique, and fights, and all kinds of feelings, and we move through a world of symbols, our minds filled with thoughts, more or less conscious of our actually being here. There are wars, and tragedies, and sadness, and there are joyful times, triumphs, and great happiness. There is touching someone and feeling her pulse under your fingertips. There is holding someone's hand and feeling his hand squeeze back. There are conversations, dreams, longings, and we are moved to empathy, to action, to further thoughts, to new ideas. Every day, this wonder is there. Sometimes we get ill, or tired, or broken by things, and it all seems so closed up and numb. People die. Sometimes terribly, cruelly, pointlessly. People starve in a universe full of energy (by which no metaphysics is meant). But if you, yourself, have that moment to see the mind-blowing sweep of it all, and take in just what it is you have, the totally impersonal opportunity that is just there to be had, if by chance you happen upon it…. How can one not be taken in by it? To me, it's what motivates me to try and keep trying to be a better person. I want to see others feel better when they are down. I want to feed people when they are hungry. I want to make things better generally. I want to make it more likely that anyone might have that moment. We are poised in the flash of eternity, and it is all we have. And while it is true that everyday life will claim our hours more likely than not, and we will be caught up by all the little details of our personal lives, pitched this way and that by circumstance, and be rendered oblivious by the density of all that holds us captive,—FUCK, you know? FUCKING HELL. It's all still there, and it's everything all at once. And beyond myself I can't but love that I'm here to see it. I mean, I look around at myself and wonder if I'm even supposed to be so lucky. You know what I mean? What a show! And it's reality! That's what I think. …Well, that and a lot of other things….