Though perfection is not of this world, we are unjustifiably far from trying for it.
The fact that life—and human self-conscious life in particular—has emerged out of the self-generating cosmic laboratory is cause for bottomless wonder and celebration.
In an arcology, the built environment and the living processes of the inhabitants interact as organs, tissues, and cells do in a highly evolved organism.
The big bang is the birth of space, a convulsion that could also be the origin of the cosmos if not of reality itself. The big bang birth is the ongoing event that we earthlings measure in fourteen or so eons, evidently according to our way of measuring. We have no way of seeing the big bang in its early youth or in its old age. Being more, far more, acquainted with reality could allow us a way to measure the entropy drift and have some approximation of a possible (probable?) end of the big bang, its self-generation and self-creation, the unstoppable metamorphosis of itself, space in action.
The self-revelation of reality to itself: an esthetogenesis.
If there is any hope for grasping and rejoicing in reality, the hope resides in the knowledge slowly developing in the species and the awe such knowledge generates in our body-brain: the supreme grace and beauty germinating from self-creation after eons of the self-generation of a lifeless and mindless cosmos.
Reality, self-creation in search of itself.
My infant God is a creational process with no inevitability associated with its emergent journey. The odds that it will mature and prevail are dismal.
The implosion pursued by the urban effect: the me’s transcending into the us.
Each organism is the big bang in action.
We as individuals have a brief moment to be swept up to become aware co-creators along with the inscrutable big bang.