Monday, May 25, 2026

Lucky us

Maria Popova echoes Richard Dawkins: “Someday this constellation I love will grow dim, then disband into atoms, and so will this constellation I am. “To die is different from what any one supposed,” Whitman wrote, “and luckier.” The poet who knew the amplitude of time knew too that death betokens the luckiness of having lived—the roll of the dice on the granite floor of eternity that configures each improbable existence, each I drawn from the myriad possible not-I’s that were never born and will never get to die. Everything we know of mathematics tells us that this infinite set of possible unconstellated atoms contains poets greater than Walt Whitman, chemists greater than Dorothy Crowfoot Hodgkin, versions of you and me kinder and crueler than we will ever be. And yet here we are, between the dice, between the trees—probable impossibilities, each of us a brief traversal between not yet and never again, having only these arms to hold the borrowed atoms that we love. That is enough.” — Traversal by Maria Popova https://a.co/09v7APU0

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