What is known to us is but a small thing. What can be known, only yet a little larger. What remains unknown, unknowable, is as vast as the sea, as vast as the limitless void, spoiled with but a few stars, paltry lives and small.
Yet we persist in our delusions.
Believe in our paltry powers.
Despite all evidence to the contrary.
Given all this unknown, this vast unknowable, how then to assert even the most simple of convictions? Even simple observations must remain suspect. Given our position.
Way out here in the tall weeds of some neglected corner of the Milky Way. One galaxy among the numberless tribe.
And our infintesimal life spans. What progress, what understanding can we possibly come to given our four-score trips around the sun?
It is vanity.
I remain convinced that love is the engine.
Of that I am certain.
My faith cannot be shaken.
My martini can be, however.