by David Martineau ’18
Flipping the switch reveals a universe in motes of dust. They hang in the heavy air, immobile but active. Scintillating like a thousand stars that have appeared to fill the foyer, they seem to wish that only I could see them. And simply flicking a switch can reveal such wonders. These galaxies upon galaxies of fluttering specks are a miracle to me, and so too is the light which shines on them, like the moon does a midnight sky. I can illuminate them with the simplest movement, and thus am like the god of their tiny universe, who has the power to utter, “Let there be light” with a mere wave of my hand. Without me, these specks of dust are nothing. They will never be noticed or pondered, and their simplicity will pale before my complex majesty. But then, I also am like a speck of dust, trapped in a universe of my own. I am lost in an endless array of stars, ones of a different kind than these motes of dust, and I wonder if—somewhere out there—there is another light, another switch, and another hand, one which might illuminate me, or already has.