this exceedingly rare spark

See that little speck of blueness a little more than halfway down in the far right stripe?
That's Earth, from about six billion kilometers away. Image taken by Voyager 1.

The other day, I had a somewhat upsetting epiphany.  I realized that, in the far, far distant future, there will be no more stars in the sky.

Actually, it started with the realization that someday (should intelligent life survive so long), kids will look up into the sky, and Orion will be missing a shoulder.  That's because Betelgeuse, the massive red supergiant that's makes up the hunter's left shoulder, is due to go supernova sometime within the next million years.

And then it made me realize that we live in an absurdly brief period,when stars burn in the darkness, when galaxies bloom, when there is warmth and light and motion.  In the end, entropy wins.  It won’t be long, on the cosmic scale, before every star burns out and every spinning planet goes still.  Heat will dissipate, fusion will cease, and even the microorganisms that turn our bones to dust will have long since gone extinct.

Pretty weird to think about.  Life is an anomaly in the universe, this exceedingly rare spark that we all share.

And yet, in this brief bright time, we spend our days fearing each other, fighting over infinitesimally small differences, feeling disconnected and discontent

It's easy to forget that all life on the planet is made from the same four nucleic chemicals, built with the matter forged in the hearts of stars - each and every organism, from algae  to tigers to viruses to us.  Even the spider that just ran across my bed (sending me into paroxysms of horror - looks like I still have lessons to learn about regarding my fellow life forms as fellow life forms).

And when it comes to humanity, all of our differences lie in a single percent. I am 99% genetically identical to everyone I know, and to the people on the other side of the planet.  Unfortunately, the human brain isn't good at thinking on a global scale, let alone a cosmic one.  It's mostly just really, really good at thinking about itself and its immediate wants.

I'm not good at being considerate of people a few continents over, or a few generations down the line.  I'm not even good at being considerate of my future self, as evidenced by my continued penchant for eating french fries.  So how can I expect human beings to be thoughtful and global-minded?

I guess I don't, really.  But if humans, or whatever humans evolve into, are going to travel across the galaxy and maybe meet other life forms out in the vast wild universe (something I consider a worthwhile goal), I can at least work on trying to be a bit more far-thinking myself.

After all, life everywhere should be reaching out to find each other, so we'd be able to know, as we head toward the day the last star fades, that we're not alone.

p.s. Be sure to read my friend Becky's blog of flash fiction, Pretending to Know You.  She's putting her one wild and precious life to good, creative use.