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On Feeling Infinite


Ahhh

I feel poetic.

It's 12.52 am and I know I've got a class at 6 am but sleep is miles away. 

In fact, unexpectedly so, I just felt infinite. 

Have you ever wondered why poets find, in nature, poetry? Why they model their works around nature and it's ways?

I just felt why. And so I can say I (probably) know. 

Of course it's a teenager's opinion but in my view, equally valid. 

Well, as it happens, I just looked at the sky only to be fazed by the sight of two tiny specs of light beside the mighty moon itself, supposedly Jupiter and Saturn. 

And, here's the answer to that question about poets:

It probably is because they're constant, and to some extent, calming to the human mind. 

Here's what it means to me:

A sheer sense of conscious insignificance against the inevitable consistency of the flow of time. 
The presently mundane incapability to reach out to the starts and being limited to only be able to gaze at them and wonder. 

That is, how I'd express, I find it poetic. 

Of course, I didn't write any poetry. 


But the feeling: It was momentous, and I felt infinite. 

Side thoughts: 

I felt annoyed by the fact that we don't have advanced space tech which limits our space travel only to the moon and soon (hopefully) Mars. Yet, we can't go out and venture other galaxies yet as in science-fiction stories. 

Yes, I've been reading science-fiction lately.

And P.S. I don't mean to sound unrealistic but also mean to acknowledge the fact that the imagination of the human mind has enabled it to go to places beyond its reach which, in itself, is a thing I find wonderful. 

And, that'll be all for now.


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