In the Beginning Was

In the Beginning Was

Strange to think I am the universe and everything in it too. I call out. No voice returns other than my echo. So evidently, I am my own cause and, worse, horribly alone. Bored, I fall into a deep sleep and dream of many things: wave-like particles in plasma; diverse organisms, vertebrates and invertebrates; metals and gases; all kinds of finite bodies with perishable qualities, competing for succession and place and rank.

Time passed and, with time, entropy. All did fall into disorder and decay. And in my dream I ceased to believe in my own being. But when the sun ran out of hydrogen, and all matter in the cosmos disintegrated I awoke and found I was indeed nothing at all, except a white dot of light in the void like the final burst of a cathode ray when a CRT set is switched off.