Pitch black. No, that’s not right. It wasn’t pitch black. There was a pattern. A glittering, shimmering pattern hanging in the darkness, spreading out in every direction, enveloping every inch of vision. A pattern of minute, flickering blue dots, of brighter balls of fire, and swirling smoky spirals of the same stuff. There was some order beneath the apparent chaos that clouded vision. The smaller balls circled the bigger ones and the swirling mists stirred as if with purpose. And this, in every way you look. No visible horizon, to perceptible end to this pattern. It was a whole universe.
Among the uncountable spiraling galaxies there was one no different from the rest, swirling slowly away since eternity. It was a disc, denser towards the center and thinning out towards the edge. It was a cluster of matter, of stars, planets, asteroids, comets and dust, of force and energy and interaction, like an isolated island of existence, and yet so much a part of the whole thing.
In that cluster there was a certain system no different from the million others. It consisted of a central star of average age, a few billion years, and circling it were nine planets and a ring of asteroids. The system followed the same laws that bound the rest of the universe, the same pattern of matter and interaction among them.
The third planet from this central star was one of a less-than-average diameter. It was composed mainly of the same elements that formed the star it circled, so it could be concluded that it had been formed from the star itself. It had a layer of an oxide of hydrogen over most of its crust, and an outermost layer of a mixture of gases, chiefly constituting nitrogen, over its solid surface. Its distance from the star allowed the maintenance of an optimum temperature. This planet had life, of various forms, evolved from a single-celled form. It had a structure to it, an ecological network, and ruling it currently was a certain species named the Homo sapien.
They have society, and have learnt the use of wheels, fire and language, and hence have progressed significantly in the field of their mode of living, and have finally reached a stage where they have dubbed this mode a word called ‘civilization’ [siv-uhl-ie-zay-shan]. They have devised methods of forming groups and tribes to facilitate internal conflict and thus introduce a certain measure of variety to their otherwise dull existence. Some of these methods are ‘politics’ [pohl-i-tix], ‘sports’ [spohrts], race [rayss] and ‘religion’ [ri-lee-jan]. They have settled in cities and have taken up different occupations that can provide them with a certain unit of exchange of material based on their value. They call this physical unit ‘money’ [mun-ee], of two principal types: flat, oblong and made of fibre; and small, circular, made of metal. This forms the base of a barter system in which by some remarkable method the unit of exchange has slowly come to occupy a more important position than the things that are exchanged. We might, hence, observe these Homo sapiens engaging in internal conflict for money rather than the things it stands for. Which is funny. Oh man, funny. I beg your pardon.
They have, as you can see, woven a rather efficient and rigid structure into their world which has simplified their lives, as they might like to claim, by badly restricting the options they can take each day as they get out of bed, but has simultaneously — without letting them know — slowly and subtly restricted life itself to a countable number of options to take when they get out of bed. The race as a whole suffers under the misconception that the options they have are finite, when in fact they are quite an endless list of possibilities, which is — oh, so funny. Ha ha. Oh, man, that’s dead funny. Like — oh, sorry. I beg your pardon once again.
So it is evident that the Homo sapiens have come to a stage where they regard themselves as supreme, their feats as the only ones in the universe worthy of mention — oh, if only they would ever glance at the universe once and wonder about that feat — and have generally succeeded in wrapping themselves up comfortably in a much-reduced list of reality, and pass day after day in a half-awake state of passive acceptance of the world, with a constant subconscious mentality that makes them feel they are important. And so they — he-he — so they strut around like proud roosters in a tiny farm when the huge, huge world’s laughing at them — oh God, oh my — that’s dead funny… They, they pick themselves up to their full height of 1.13X10-11 Astronomical units (0.000000000000113 A.U. – actual computation of average height) and look over the rims of their spectacles and, and — oh God, I — I can’t do this any more, oh — oh man, this is, oh — so funny!
Oh, sorry. I beg your — oh, ha-ha!