After leaving New York, I remember how insignificant I am.
I see the points of innumerable stars.... feel breezes that traverse oceans and continents... ponder expansive blue gradations of arbitrarily-termed "sky." And I become aware of the magnitude of this system that perpetuates itself, regardless of my existence.
It is a gift to be small in the presence of this -- a gift to be aware of my own insignificance. Meaninglessness on this scale is liberation -- an invitation to form my own meaning from inspiration, creation, and love... because amid this world's randomness, my own life is all I can dare to shape. I can only create meaning for myself... and aspire to constancy, despite the flawed structure of love.
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