There is a profound, sensual reaction that occurs inside of me when it comes to the littlest things, ideas, moments. Muscle fibers vibrate so finely, I imagine it being visually imperceptible even under the penetrating eye of an electron microscope. Rubbing against each other, these fibers generate a friction translated into a fiery energy pulsing through hands, arms, chest, throat, face and, sometimes all the way down to my toes. Goosebumps rise all over and I almost feel like I extend further than my body or that I'm going to explode. My body's response is why I think, secretly, the little things ARE the "big" things that truly matter.
Us humans are so ridiculously small when it comes to infinities and the cosmos. Maybe my body is just naturally mirroring my insignificance, a sort of validation to petition my sanity, my importance, my worth, my existence. Yes, as small and insignificant as you are, Chance, you do exist. Which leads to do any of us matter? Does anyone care? Why does it matter if they care? How can I/we define worth? Why the hell is that in important? More questions than answers. The body translates it into a sensation that is understood beyond the intellectual but rather difficult to bring back up to the mental realm for assessment, analysis. This is why art exists.
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