Since moving to Florida, and having recently visited the Middle East and the Sahara Desert, I've been thinking a lot about sand lately. And, friend, I'm of the mind that it's a pretty good metaphor for our callous and indifferent universe.
Sand is seriously shifty.
Unlike silt, clay, or loam—the Holy Trinity of terra firma—sand dupes you into thinking it's a solid foundation for homes and buildings. It's fine to walk around on, sure. Yet try to run on the stuff, and sands' capriciousness is made plain to all. Especially to the kid who filmed your face-plant on his iPhone and won't stop laughing.
The granularity is already here.
Sand's volatility reminds us that our universe is only one drunken “What if?” CERN experiment away from collapsing in on itself. Regardless, we collectively ignore the precariousness of existence. We continue building our lives on a foundation less trustworthy than the Scott Adams Alliance For Racial Progress.
Control is an illusion.
The French phrase, “C'est la vie,” (meaning roughly, “Eh, whaddya gonna do?”) is a good reminder that there are simply things in life beyond human control—like the weather, the economy, and cats.
So just accept the fact that, like sand, our universe is terrifyingly mercurial and unreliable. But at least it doesn't get all up in your ass crack.
