Hanging above me: the black void. Depths I will never know. This is the universe. Because it has a name, I can conceptualize it. I know that it contains asteroids, stars, and unknowing black holes. However, it will forever remain that black domain blanketing the night. I look up and there is no end to my gaze. I can peer farther and farther into the blackness and still only see hallucinations of the dark. I’m devoured in the depths of the infinite. Who returns is something deeper: A speck of mystery. A breadcrumb of the unknown. An echo of the larger whole. If I could talk with the universe, then my life would have no purpose; all my questions would be answered and there would be nothing left to find. Maybe life itself is the conversation where each action is a word spoken. Maybe not.
I am a unique expression of the universe reflecting itself—like a mirror shattered. Each crack reflects another, and to look at one slice is to look at infinite. But, that’s what I am. What does this mean: the universe? A large collection of matter, suspended in space. No ability to think, or want, to believe, or even see, has randomly found the chance to explore itself through the eyes of Charles Frank, a man who dreams of magic: a magic found through seeing, experiencing, and reflecting the universe itself—of which I am. For me to live in a universe means that I am exploring reflections of myself in a grand adventure through and of stardust; the cosmos.
“We are the universe experiencing itself” does not explain the unique perspectives counted here on Earth. It’s as if there are billions of shining stars and at the center of each is a window to a world wholly unlike the one on Earth. And yet, each of those worlds look out through a window and change and evolve. The night sky is reflected on Earth, of stardust in the form of man. And man looks back up at the stars and sees.
Answering questions from