For Julia. Please stay.
Can you feel it? Here, take two fingers, put them right on your neck. Can you feel it? Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. There ya go, there’s your heart. Beating out the rhythm of the universe. Millions of micromachines all together hammering along to the symphonies of stars and sub particles. Blood coursing through miles of arteries, capillaries, veins, heart, arteries capillaries, veins, heart, arteries, capillaries, veins, heart and round again and again. Blood racing to deliver oxygen to the nigh insatiable chemical infernos within your every cell. You are composed of trillions of teeny machines running combustion engines to keep themselves going. Each one programmed, designed, and refined for one purpose, life. Millennia of painstaking progress embodied in you. It takes more information to make one cell than it does to record all of our own measly history, literature, and profanity. That’s just your body. Stars explode and leave behind burning planets. Planets cool and we are built on the remains. From dust we are fashioned. Yet, is that it? Are we but the products of death and dead things, be they stars, or planets, or people? Are we but the accidents of eons? Am I simply the random combinations of “C”s, “H”s, “O”s, “N”s, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera?
Hardly. The incessant beating of your heart ought to chide you against such dreary thoughts. I could postulate, debate, and exasperate over the proofs and evidences of our selves. Yet in the end, we are but left with the question. What are we? What in the end are we composed of?
Go on then. Strip away the organs. Tear off the tissue. Cut away the cells. Disassemble the macromolecules. I am more than carbohydrates, proteins, lipids, and nucleic acids! When all that is gone, what then remains of me? Sit down Shakespeare, for we are made of firmer stuff than dreams. Thank you Doctor Sagan but we are greater than just star dust.
If I took your pieces could I remake you? If I took the code that writes your hair would it still fall the same way? If I found the code that writes your mouth, would it still smile the same way? If I took the code that writes your eyes, would they still shine the same way? If I took the code for your heart, would it break the same way? No, you are irreplaceable and precious. Made of more than the stuff of stars and dreams.
We are not the made by the mistakes of people, planets, or physics. We are the deliberate masterpieces. We are formed with the very laws of creation focused on planets doing their business within the bodies of people. We are the revelation of the Magnificently Metaphysical Maker maddeningly saying to physics and chemistry: “Stand aside. Let Me finish the job.” You are irreplaceable because The One with that kind of authority and power does not get so lazy in its exercise to make remakes or use molds. He doesn’t do repeats or remakes or reboots. His business is in the original.
If I walked through the peoples of the earth would I find you twice? If I lined up everyone in all the world would I find someone like you? If I walked tangent to this world and wandered would I meet you again? Would I find you swimming in Venus’s clouds or indulging the lonely curiosity on Mars? If I meandered through the Milky Way and the rest of the galaxies, could I find another like you?
I know you don’t believe me. Cause if you don’t listen hard enough you will drown in the sea of noise around you. You will be buffeted by the waves of insecurity. The currents of misinformation will you drag you below. The torrents of fear will swamp you. All the noise in the world is trying to drown out the song. So put your fingers to your neck. Feel the raw power pouring through your vessels of blood as it blasts the bass drum beat of the melody of the Maker. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
By TKH Hamilton