The mirage

 We are pursuing a sense of oneness with something unknown, a vague sense of fulfillment. Almost an emptiness. And we make our own pictures of that which we suppose will fetch that sense of oneness. We have intangible glimpses of that something which drives us to try to fit in and taste rest, ease, oneness through aims, goals, desires, relationships, art, science, everything we do. That something which will eventually get us relieved of perpetual weariness and tension which make us feel that something is missing in life.

Either we have tasted this oneness before—there is a logical chance for it because otherwise why would we hanker so soulfully for something that hasn’t been experienced earlier—or it never was, nor will ever be our fate to feel this oneness.

The second thing is more probable. And we are merely little particles in this stream of cosmic thrust; the aggressive, parasitic expansion; the powerful explosion in which the stronger elements chuck out the weaker ones—a black hole sucking a huge star into its empty innards; an eagle pouncing upon a soft rabbit to tear it apart—to make more and more complex structures and beings. From the perspective of timeless and spaceless infinity, it doesn’t seem probable that there is one particular, permanent state of oneness.