You have entrusted thousands of people with your life.
None have failed you.
Every day, you entrust hundreds to do the right thing.
At their jobs. With their responsibilities. Almost every one does. Every day. (In spite of their own struggles, trials and hardships.)
You were created by microscopic specs so small, they might as well have been nothing.
Matter? It’s not real. Everything is energy.
Somehow, consciousness is contained within (or around) the energetic walls of your body.
This is called “life.”
You exist on a blue marble, a spec in the cosmos, perfectly positioned by a burning star, which hurtles itself through infinite black — an expanding universe.
(Where is it going? Expanding towards what? From where? Are there walls?)
Odds are, we should not be here.
We are.
