Nihilitarianism

I idly let myself spin in this and that direction in interstellar space, watching the stars turn this way and that. I wonder what would happen if I'd die, and my energy would become one with that of the universe again. I would remember how my ego's motive force doesn't matter to the universe, because I am really it and the ego is but its salience in my consciousness… once that salience subsides into its surface, nothing is left to keep me from losing control to its forces instead. But one way or another its forces have always driven me, and mine are its, and its are mine. So what influences from the universe, the furthest extension of myself, are pouring into my unconscious? On the whole, it is ever peaceful, and nothing occurs but the choral rhythms of infinitely many celestial hearts. On a deeper level, all influences are of my choosing, the connections through the network that linger in my memory. And on their foreground, ever you, that sun of exploding energy, blinding me to the stars but casting light on worlds that could lie before me. I cannot see anything other than what lies before me, the day, drowning out all mystery from the sky and returning my eyes to the earth. The only meaningful dreams are those that are made into reality, and I cannot wait, cannot dream anymore. I must break through the glass that neatly held me in my museum, reflecting on tricks of the light. The first cracks appeared under my fists, slowly, oh so slowly expanding across my walls, and I can't wait another day but must, just another week, and then another — but soon, any day now.