Sandcastles

Our civilization is going to fall. There is no doubt about it; like the Babylonians and Persians before us, the Romans and Greeks, or the Mayans and Aztecs, our nation will collapse.

Only, we don't really believe it. Some of us deny it, others nod in agreement, but few really understand that truth. We are so close to our reality, so involved in the present time that it is next to impossible to legitimately remove ourselves and step back far enough to acknowledge the inevitable. Nothing lives forever, and, although we may be happy and prosperous for the time being, eventually our end must come, even if the end is many thousands of years away.

Our empire seems strong. From our point of view, nothing is going to fall apart any time soon. But, from our point of view, we can't really see too far ahead. From where we stand, we have no idea what the technology of the future will be like. Many hundreds of years ago, people thinking along the same paths we now explore could not imagine how their horses would be replaced by automobiles and motorboats and jet planes. They could not see that ink and feather would evolve into factory-produced pen and paper, and later into instantaneous electronic communication.

Likewise, we have no idea what is coming next. We cannot imagine it. We pretend we can see a future of flying cars and robot servants, but, in truth, the technology of the distant future will not be predicted today. And so, although we cannot imagine it now, our empire, too, will fall. Our people will be destroyed, perhaps by disease, perhaps by war. Our cities will be ravaged, either by bombshells or tidal waves. Our libraries and computer databases, housing the collective knowledge of our society, will be damaged beyond recognition, or else no one with the ability will remain to read them.

This presents a depressing image: the destruction of our world. And perhaps, eventually, the destruction of mankind everywhere.

Human beings understand that we, as individuals, are not permanent. We know that we will only last around 100 years on our own. That is why we have children. That is why we try to impact the lives of others, most often those closest to us: so that we may be remembered, so that we may live on. We all strive do create impact; we want to be famous, we want to invent something, we want to change the world. If we can, we will forever be written down in books of history, science, or art. We may even write our own books. Our goal is to be immortalized.

And yet, we are aware that, one day, our children's children will die out. Our books and our inventions will be destroyed, our music and art will be lost forever. Even the most famous citizens from our history will be forgotten, eventually. No matter who we impact or what we do in this world, whether we simply sit back and watch or cure the worst of human diseases, eventually, in the distant, unforeseeable future, it won't matter at all. Not only will our individual lives have no meaning, but the entire existence of our nation, and, eventually, our race, will have been for nothing.

If one were to contemplate the previous to this point, and then stop, one might develop a gradually increasing manifestation of depression. That would be inadvisable.

Our lives are indeed impermanent. Our entire world is, as well. We can live with this knowledge, however, without being depressed. We need not ignore this truth, or pretend that it is a possibility rather than a fact. We can acknowledge our smallness, our overall insignificance, our ultimate demise and still live happy, meaningful lives knowing that we are sandcastles.

Sandcastles are built on beautiful, warm summer days by happy children, not, as some may imagine, too ignorant to realize what will happen to their creation; rather, the children are too much so at peace with their world to mind. Sandcastles are magnificent structures, wonderful, imaginative creations inspiring excitement, wonder, and mystery. Sandcastles are complex, and ever-growing, and unique. And sandcastles, before too long, are inevitably consumed by an ocean wave.

The fact that their story ends does not detract the least from the beauty and enjoyment of their existence.

We are like sandcastles.

Our story will end; all stories do. Knowing that there is a final page does not stop the reader from flipping the ones between, nor the author from writing them.