(Permission for republication granted to Morwen Lagann)
Children of Naught: End State
by Aria Jenneth
In the end, as in the beginning and the middle—as ever—we are nothing, nothing, certainly nothing of significance, hollow emptinesses in the vague shapes of people, or of ships.
That is what the Black whispers to us that we are. That is what the Black will make of us, in time, of all of us, perhaps, or perhaps only of some, those who are foolish enough to listen as I have listened.
We whose ships pass among the stars, who watch planets flick past as momentary blots and blurs in the depths of a Nothing infinitely more vast, suffer from an excess of something humanity has rarely had even enough of: perspective.
We are ants who live on a mountain crest, from which great height even the greatest cities seem insignificant. It is a powerful, an alluring feeling, to see so far. And yet, so vast is this place, and so empty, and so unkind, that if we dare to look at ourselves within its depths we will see the same that we see when we look at others: motes, specks, figments. Many among us think ourselves grand, now. This is only because these have not turned to the Black as their mirror and seen that it looks at them the same as it looks at the humans they hold themselves above.
The Black’s is a cosmic perspective, vast and uncaring, and unkind. To it, we are motes of dust, and we, some of us, alone in the isolation of our pods or in our quarters, cut off from human warmth and light and love, perhaps even unable to feel these things at those times when we are surrounded by them? We begin to see its point.
Is this is the end state for all of us Demented, to drift away on seas of abstraction, to lose our selves on seas of cold nothing, to find ourselves drained of motive force, of ambition, of hope, even of hate, pain, fear, anger, sorrow, even of despair?
I do not know.
I know that this is where my path led me, at the end: into uncaring emptiness. It was not the understanding, the insight into and unity with my place in the universe that I desired. Instead of finding my place in the Totality, I found the place in the universe belonging to the Black, the killing near-nothing, the empty halls of space, that I emulated.
I am gone from among you, now, not dead, but departed; this writing will find its way to your meeting spaces only with the aid of a friend. Other writings on other topics may follow this one, but I think that this will be the last of its kind. May these essays stand as a guide to those who need them, but as a warning, also, for to embrace the Black is to embrace that which is most truly antithetical to the matter and energy-rich worlds we have known as our homes: the near-absence of everything.
What marks I will carry from my time as a student of the Black, I do not know. Perhaps worlds of smaller scale and lesser perspective, but better resolution, will fill the gap in my spirit. Already, they have papered over the hole.
Or, perhaps what I learned studying at the feet of the Black will be mine for as long as I exist, branding me a horror with a soul full of bottomless pits and empty spaces so hollow that they would echo if only they had air in them to carry sound.
Like you, capsuleer. Like all of us who hear the Black whisper, and dare listen.
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Topic: Children of Naught: End State (Read 863 times)