An Idyll About the Universe
by EvelynHail
Something tells me that mankind might already be way in over their heads with what they have, so they would now like to order a tall glass of destruction.
This world of ours was among the first prone to it, and the last to come to its senses.
In the least amount of time, it acquired the privileges that it can have, with the least effort it succeeded in life, but it constantly looked up at the stars and the blue sky, with a tendency to spoil them.
Even if our world came into the possession of the source and the essence of the universe, it would still not be satisfied.
And what kind of stories would we tell then, what would we strive for?
What ideals, what stars?
Why would children agree to grow up under a sky without stars, under the sky without the sky, and what would that even look like?
How would we dream, and where would we hang the pale moon to rest after a tiring night, to give the sky its heavenly color?
The man is so arrogant and ungrateful in his hungry insatiable desires.
And the universe, as endless as imagination itself, seeks the most daring dreamers who will not stain its borders.
The universe eagerly breathes in all the adventurers, all the forever-young.
Those who are ready for anything, who want to go up in order to see better; those who wish to help others.
Those whose cheerfulness heralds the dawn, as they whisper the most wonderful words into ears of the future.
The universe pines for a poem; a poet. It craves the pure soul of humanity—not its dirty hope of subduing outer space.
There are few such people, because the tainted ones crush them without mercy, trip them up deliberately.
Happiness is to firstly wish upon a star, to dream a dream, and then to touch that star, to live that dream. Even though it feels such a long, long way away, we should never stop wishing, and dreaming.
Wish something, and the Universe will be on its way to be changed. Because we've changed it, with our thoughts. And once we've changed, other things will follow. Those are the mysterious works of the macrocosm.
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