Sometimes I'm reminded of the primal divinity of Being, that all these cosmic coincidences beg the same question: What was the cause?
I remind myself in these moments that there is only one ultimate answer, no matter how many scientific discoveries we may yet reveal: Something, somewhen, just is, and there is no thing that came before.
We may yet discover countless multiverses and a thousand metalayers more than that, but there will always be that superlative primacy at the end of it all.
We are neither blessed nor cursed, I think, by any thinking thing. Intelligence seems to me no more significant than rivers painting canyons into the earth.
But it gives me pause to consider that the air around me, the light above me, the fingers with which I type this now are each products of something irreconcilably primal — something that came from nothing, or never began in any meaningful way.
It's like conceiving of a time before time, and grappling with the complete breakdown of reason