When my kids were small and the snow was right, we went through a phase of rather elaborate snow sculpturing. Sometimes they were the classic fortresses, but if so they were more decorative than defensive. It was always more interesting to build towers and bridges. And significantly more engaging than that was the construction of snow guys. They had to be snow guys, because "guy" was really pretty non-gender/non-species specific. Bizarre was good, taller than the builder was almost inevitable. I seem to remember horses, dragons and any number of Calvin and Hobbes-inspired creatures sporting extra appendages and large teeth. Once the temperature started to drop and the construction-grade snow was refreezing, I always enjoyed looking out over the yard full of our handiwork and imagining some sort of life there -- static, albeit; a moment of alternative reality frozen in mid-expression. But all that energy put into their creation, how could they not somehow embody a bit of life, even if it would never express beyond their moment of stasis?
The other morning I went to the barn to do chores, only just awake. And it was just after 5:30, so there wasn't much light -- more from the waning moon than waxing dawn. And whether it was a residual bit of dream from the sleep I'd just left, or some other inspiration from still having a soft night brain, the sight of the horse walking the fence line anticipating her breakfast suddenly made me ask the question, "Why life?" Well, I guess the obvious answer is "Why not?" And since I'm neither a philosopher nor a scientist, I can't really have an informed opinion. But it was amusing for me, because the minute I was watching this horse, I was also thinking about the Big Bang*, and all that energy starting from zero and endlessly dissipating. And when I considered it like a clock running down, each moment somehow less energetic than the previous moment (however time might be quantized), that was when I found myself marveling that life would trouble to be at all. Like gravity drawing matter together to form stars, galaxies and planets, is life as easy and predictable an expression of the aging universe as any star? Life is a medium for burning energy, after all. And the universe specializes in this, although admittedly it works against itself, what with that endless expansion business. Then there's that whole embarrassing mess with Dark Energy** which lends more than a little desperation to the scenario.
Well, I've thought enough about that for now. It's clear why religions are so popular amongst so many members of our species. Sometimes I crave those boundaries, too. And sometimes when the snow falls wet, and it's just right for sculpture, I'm suddenly seized by a knot of creative energy -- who knows, maybe nudged to coalesce in me by a random wave of Dark Energy. And I'm inspired to dress up and go outside and build a snow guy -- a great huge snow guy, taller than me, with multiple heads and teeth like daggers. And when it looms all menacing and ugly in front of the gate, I'll pause for a brief meditative moment, hold my breath and feel its moment of frozen reality. Scary stuff, indeed.
*Dull, dull, yes, but what's in a name? -- well, in this case, everything (as it were)
**Yeah, we're good with names.
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