by Will S. Mayo

     And then one day not so many years ago I picked up the newspaper to look at the obituaries as was my habit and I saw one that I found especially interesting.
     “Here’s one,” I said to my father. “It says this fellow here was an iconoclast in all the books and articles he published, leaning neither to left nor right. And he remained an optimist. He believed the human race would prevail.”
     “Interesting,” my father said. “What was the fellow’s name?”
     I took another look at the paper and shuddered as I saw my own name and face peering out at me.
     “Oh, never mind,” I said.
     We moved on  to other things.
     We always did.


     Deep in the country of my dreams there is a home for me called Every House. And in this Every House lies every house I ever lived in, every bar I ever got smashed in, every roadside ditch I ever slept in, every alleyway and desert highway I ever crept through. Many are the fantastic rooms of this house. Many are the corridors and the faraway lands. And as I lie down for one more afternoon nap I wonder which door I will enter and which I will return by. When I come back will I be a new man or will I be the same old mean scoundrel who has raged down many a night? I know not. And yet I open that door and peer down its long dark hallway of secrets. Forever is the moment.


     When told that the answers to the universe cannot be found, Albert Einstein, a man who had by then discovered much, said, “God does not play dice with the universe.” To which Stephen Hawking, another renowned mathematician, would say, “God not only plays dice with the universe, he hides the dice in black holes.” To all of this, many a wise man, neither a mathematician nor a man of God, could only say, “There is no God and there are no dice and there are no answers. There are only holes.”
     For my part, I avoid the potholes as best I can and go my own way.


     All my life, people, whether religious or secular, have been proclaiming the end of the world. Scientists talked first about global cooling and then global warming. Evangelists warned of the Antichrist. Computer aficionados warned that a computer bug would bring about the end of civilization. There was even that hysteria when the planets lined up in the 1980s, then in the 1990s, that the gravitational forces would unleash all manner of events. This is not to mention the constant worry about nuclear warfare. But the world goes on and so does humanity, despite the doomsayers. We’ve shown the first signs of returning to the moon and going to Mars and in our future lies the stars. It’s you and me, friends, who will die, not the world and not the human race, which will evolve and transform itself among countless worlds. I have high hopes for humanity and the earth, too, but not so much for you and me. We will die and be forgotten, but our descendants will live on. They will create poetry of their own among the galaxies.