One wonders...

If we stop for a single honest moment to think about it, we wonder what the point of living is. Tomorrow, in other words, a hundred thousand years from now, robots will be asking the same questions, with the difference that they'll probably be eternal and running a loop of algorithms created by who knows what God.

And the God will be a human being long gone.

Suppose a disaster worse than Trump, Putin, or Netanyahu occurs on Earth and that the human species becomes fertilizer for the flowers that will still grow in the mountains stripped of their climbers. Life will go on without us; the Earth will find another conscience to look at itself in the mirror. It will be green, mauve, humid, and fertile. Then, one of these days, the sun will come out.
Will we have time to discover the Mystery? It seems that my dreams tell me so many things, and stupid as I am, I don't understand a word of it. I remember a shrink who collected all his dreams in notebooks throughout his life and confessed defeat before he died.

If we're doomed to ignorance, what's left for us is to live like children who don't care about the future?

It's silly to play the innocent with full hands or the monster with bloody teeth to waste the planet. But that's just the way it is. We push the pencil a little further, go off to see if there's life on a moon of Jupiter, have fun, and send each other flowers and bombs. Human folly seems as fair as its powerful revelations. Religions have claimed as many lives as the most sordid of dictators. Injustice never seems to dry up; it's a fountain as delirious as Jouvence's. Sail the galley, sail the chimeras.

And yet the caresses of one make us long, the poetry of another soothes us, and our mother's smile reassures us a little. Women and men sow their seeds and start again.

I guess we like that.