The Big Bang created a universe like a big balloon,

the outer surface right here right now as far as the eye can see; the past occurred somewhere inside, now physically inaccessible. The outer edge that we inhabit is the thin green line where heat meets cold, where lava meets the sea, where past meets the future. We reside on the outer edge of the balloon, looking in, at the past, all we can see. If we resided on the flip side, then maybe we could see the future, probably wouldn’t have much choice, actually. If you could see far enough in any one direction, you’d see yourself, back to the lens, staring off into space. In the future will be the past staring us in the face demanding an explanation. In the future we’ll have to start all over. The only thing certain is the past; the future is pure abstract logic, mathematical probability. An old person leaving this world of space and attraction is even more beautiful than a new pink blob of consciousness coming in, the same thing really, though the unformed future can hardly compete with a well-formed past. Everything’s different now: logic is suspended, reason waits its turn in line. We stand at the crossroads of our lives and history. There’s no going back without re-booting. The moment past is accessible only in memory, measured by the half-life of mental images. The future is Heaven; the past is Hell, a Hell of your own making.

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