Philosopher on the beach

When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in an eternity of before and after, the little space I fill engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces whereof I know nothing, I am terrified.

— Blaise Pascal

She sits at the edge of infinity by the Indian Ocean. Sand fine like baby powder, beige and black where the water pulls back. The ocean hums peacefully under the blazing sun.

Some grow up with snow. Some beside the sea. She had watched the surfers from the shore, stunned at how far they swam out, so far she could barely spot them, small dark shapes against the Indian Ocean’s moving light. Fearless bodies surfing waves like the most natural thing. Trusting it like one trusts land.

She floats on her back, between surface and depth. The water salty, clear and fresh, icing her worries of the day. Floating and rocking to the motion of the ocean, curious about the mystery underneath. The mind projecting its interior below. Schrödinger’s ocean floor.

A thought drifts in from the east: we say love is infinite like the ocean. Yet, the ocean keeps no promises.

Somewhere above, 100 kilometres up, space begins. Not gradually. Suddenly. One moment: atmosphere. Next: nothing. She imagines Earth from that distance. A pale blue dot. Astronauts call this the Overview Effect.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀                                                   ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀.

She floats back.

No matter how far into outer space I send my thinking, the only space I will wholeheartedly occupy is the one right here, in this body I call mine.

While I can hold 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 stars in my mind (more than all the grains of sand on every beach and desert on earth) still, none of it touches what it is to be hungry in a moment. To feel a tear dwell in the eye, ready to burst, bright as a jewel floating in endless dark space.

On this pale blue dot live 8.3 billion people who all consider their lives their everything. If life were feeble and disposable, adults, children, the elderly wouldn’t cling so hard to stay in it. We wouldn’t hide death so visibly. Hundreds of cemetery plots should fascinate us rather than send us looking away. The vastness of missing someone, the enormity of heartbreak sitting beside the enormity of stars.

She swims back to shore. Sand underfoot. She gathers her things. One last glance at the ocean. Her footprints in the sand.

Brief.

Already gone.