by Raphael O’Suna

I do not scare easily, but the immensity of the universe: the quantity of matter and the aeons of time are intimidating.

I remember once, on a beach on Long Island, when the sky was full of stars, and a woman, speaking, unintentionally drew me out of my body, and unbeknownst to her, I had drifted off into the starry night. She had talked me into relaxing on the sand. Her voice and instructions almost hypnotized me. And out I went, into the starry night.

Quickly, I realized that something was amiss. I didn’t immediately realize that my consciousness had peeled away from my body. When I did and sensed the dark immensity, the loneliness of a speck of light in all of that darkness.

hen I realized the insignificance and vulnerability of this puff of consciousness, I became terrified. I snapped back into my body and quavered and trembled for a long time afterward. And I didn’t speak for a long time.

Intuitively, without thought, belief or proof, I have always assumed that some small part of me would always remain; but out there, in the expanse of space, one could acknowledge no necessity for the continuity and persistence of this consciousness. Of what significance is this flickering light in infinity and eternity?

It is also true that away from the earth, one seems to automatically contemplate the origin and destiny of the entire material and metaphysical worlds. Things that begin, end. Things that never began, need not begin anything else.

On earth, infant souls are allowed to persist in illusion. This is comforting. One does not have to consider the big questions. But out there, there are only big questions. And only oneself for answers. And only oneself suffers for incorrect choices.

The body may be a prison, a meat suit, ultimately, nothing but ash, but it is also comforting, warm, responsive, filled with life and little lives. Matter provides company. It is a vehicle, an instrument, in the form of a body, a pet.

Out in the universe, alone, present mostly in thought and consciousness, one becomes terrified–one must doubt the persistent and substantial nature of oneself. One must perceive the flimsy thread of one’s existence.

Silence, space, immensity, the need to be fully and solely responsible for one’s existence–these things can be frightening.

The earth is a home, a mother, a place where vibrations are not generally beyond our comfort level. The earth can be sensed, measured, categorized, possessed.

Out there, we are orphans of the night. Fireflies in great tunnels of time. We are nothing and nobody. We are unknown and unknowing. We are disconnected and unsupported. We are a wrinkle or a tension with awareness. An awareness that frightens itself.