by MW Cook
Does entropy ever bother you?
They say that all energy will eventually fizzle and turn useless. They say the universe will turn cold and all life and information and movement will cease. All the songs will be silenced. All the stories will be forgotten. Every trace of human wisdom, love, and hope will fade from the cosmos, leaving not even an echo behind. So it goes.
The thought makes me shudder.
It makes you shudder, too, even though you know you won’t be around to experience it. There is something deeply disturbing about end of all things. About the final death. It’s sick. It’s perverted. It’s madness.
I think we’ve always seen it coming. The ancients knew that all good things come to an end. But they didn’t accept it. They couldn’t. They raged against it.
The ancient seers flung out their prophecies, calling for the ultimate death of death. They claimed that all these decaying things around us would be reconciled and made well again. They spoke of a pinnacle of existence, better than the one we find ourselves in, where there is no entropy. They claimed that those who sought after glory, honor, and immortality would be a part of it.
Sounds too good to be true.
But, you know, it’s the madness of entropy that makes me think those prophets could be right. It’s the utter terror of the thought of nothingness that makes me think there could never be nothing. That makes me dare to hope that our stories will never fully fade away. That makes be wonder if death, indeed, will die.
Eternity is bound up in the heart of Man. Does that suggest we are meant to dwell in a realm that does not decay?
I think so.
I may be wrong. It could be that this universe is all there is. It could be that when the last human fades and dies, all our spirit and love will die with him or her.
Or perhaps the kingdom of heaven will come. And death will be brought to trial and done away with. And perhaps the stories and songs will never end and the sun will never set. And perhaps the weight of affliction of this dark world will not be worthy to be compared to the glory to be revealed on that day. And we will laugh and dance with those ancient prophets who searched the human and divine spirit to predict that glorious morning.
Either way, what can we do but rage against the dying of the light?
So it goes.