Last Men?

I had a discussion with a friend about the climate change (which I think should really be named as The Global Climate Catastrophe, just to point out the urgency). For some reason, the possibility of the death of the entire human race came up, and the non-zero possibility that my child might be there to witness it.

The thought is so painful that I have no words. So instead I must borrow the words from Olaf Stapledon's Last and First Men - the epic story of humanity through the aeons, and the final thoughts of the last men:

But one thing is certain. Man himself, at the very least, is music, a brave theme that makes music also of its vast accompaniment, its matrix of storms and stars. Man himself in his degree is eternally a beauty in the eternal form of things. It is very good to have been man. And so we may go forward together with laughter in our hearts, and peace, thankful for the past, and for our own courage. For we shall make after all a fair conclusion to this brief music that is man.


I've tried denial - that is, not thinking about my child perhaps seeing that. Usually works. :~(

--Pare, 30-Oct-2009

From "Roxie", by Robert Reed

She has become an absolutely wonderful dog. Her mind remains sharp and clear. One morning, she acts a little confused about where we are going, but that's the lone exception to an exceptionally lucid life. When I give commands, she obeys. But there is very little need to tell her what to do. Every walk has something worth smelling. The weather has been perfect, and neither of us is in a hurry anymore. Halfway to the park, we come upon an elderly couple climbing out of an enormous sedan. They're in their eighties, maybe nineties, and the frail little woman says to my dog, "You are so beautiful, honey."

I thank her for both of us and go on.

The park lies to our right, beginning with a triangle on public ground where people bring their dogs trhoughout the day. Roxie does her business in one of the traditional places. I congratulate her on a fine-looking poop. Then we continue walking, heading due north, and at some point it occurs to me that it would be fun to change things up. We could walk down into the pine trees standing beside the golf course. But since I'm not sure that she's strong enough, I say nothing. Not a hint about what I want to do. Yet when we reach our usual turning point, Roxie keeps on walking, not looking back at me as we pass the old maintenance building and start down a brief steep slope.

Coincidence, or did she read my mind?

Whatever the reason, we move slowly into the pines, down where the long shadows make the grass cool and inviting, am I am crying again, thinking what a blessing this is, being conjured out of nothingness, and even when that nothingness reclaims us, there remains that unvaquished honor or having once, in some great way or another, having been alive...

--AnonymousCoward, 08-Nov-2009

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"Main_blogentry_301009_1" last changed on 30-Oct-2009 00:16:44 EET by JanneJalkanen.