A funny thing it is how we can feel so utterly alone when surrounded by people, and so incredibly close and connected to everyone else in the world when you’re standing by yourself in the middle of the sidewalk at night.
I’m rarely one for feeling particularly connected to the human race. It’s been worse lately due to some unresolved disillusionment I have lying around, cluttering up the place. I am uncertain how I feel about our species currently. It is so easy to see the good and the great and the beautiful we’ve done as a species pale when placed next to both our cruelty and futility. I’ll figure this out soon, and I retain faith that I’ll come out on the non-misanthropic side, but for now? Uncertainty abounds.
I suppose it’s fitting, therefore, that the first pang of companionship I have felt with humanity as a general concept for a while was when I was standing by myself, stargazing upward.
It occurred to me then, that if an alien civilization came down, hypothetically, they would be so fantastically different from us that our antics would be completely incomprehensible. For instance, they almost definitely wouldn’t see pictures in the stars like we do. Another species would see lights in the sky, assuming they could even sense electromagnetic radiation, nothing more. But we see ladles and swans and rivers. Constellations are just one beautiful inside joke of humanity that no one else will ever get.
It’s mad that we see pictures in unconnected points of light, and yet we all do. It is absurdly comforting that we’re all mad in the same ways.