To the Moon by: Casey Kiley, Charcoal, Marker and Acrylic, 2018
Beyond the Earth’s stratosphere, one must transcend humanity and think not as an individual, but as a species. Staring out into the profound emptiness that is interstellar space struck my conscience with a mysterious optimism. My vessel had gone off of the projected trajectory, and now has adopted an inevitable inertial path towards nothingness. The ancient starlight that sparkles the visible universe seems to be a kiss of the past; relative to me of course. I can hear the silence of space, the deafening nothingness that separates the planets, stars and celestial bodies from one another. Despite the sensation of being in isolation, I feel the opposite of empty, I feel… filled. Content. Here I remain, within a cosmic vessel that can not propel itself further, exhausted, without any resources, inevitably auto piloting to my own cosmic death. The same stardust, my stardust, comprising of carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, etc. will soon once again be disseminated across a mere speck of space-time, in comparison to the 14 billion year expanding universe. Where do all of my experiences go? What shall I experience after death? I am dying alone, of one kind; a human kind. I can see the the sapphire sphere in contrast to the ancient starlight backdrop. All the problems that face the earth are insignificant to the majesty of the rest of existence. I cared no longer that I was living, I cared no longer that I was dying. I cared only for this opening of my mind, this escape from our own oblivion; for the world to see itself in its own image, for the world to read its own words. Because in the moment of death, the mystery of life becomes quite clear. The entire purpose in living is to prepare for the moment you are about to experience death. In my last breath, I blurted out, “Dasvidaniya.”