I am the universe.
The universe is not something which is outside of me. Not only is there no difference between me and my surroundings, they are not two separable things.
It is not even straightforward to exactly define what is and isn’t me at any particular point in time. My survival is entirely dependent on a host of bacteria, plants, animals. The Sun powers the local system, the Moon’s gravity stabilises the seasons, Jupiter protects me from the encroachment of comets. My existence is intimately connected over billions of years with the conditions at the very earliest point this side of the big bang.
The universe makes music for my ears, paint for my eyes and communication for my soul.
You are the universe.
I am so large, and expanding so fast, that light from some areas of me can no longer reach other parts. I have been so large for so long that I can see myself throughout my history. I can remember what I did earlier and plan what I will do next. I am in a phase of creation; I can fill a planet with sand, and name each grain a star.
I can contemplate my own existence.
I am awash with uncertainty. I can generalise and abstract. I am beautiful and terrible on every scale. I can forget who I am, and sometimes think I am something different.
I try to tell other people about this. I think they think I’m crazy. I used to tell people I am god, but then I knew they thought I was crazy. You are the universe, you are me also. It is not an abstract philosophical point. I am not talking metaphorically or metaphysically, or about some vague feeling. I am talking about direct observable fact.
We are stardust. Every part of us is the embers of a singular explosion of space, time, matter and energy. Your existence is a flicker, I am a collision of particles, a brief cohesion of a fluid reality.
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