She sits at the top of the sky, watching as the things take place.
Observing with emotionless joy the unfolding of trivialities large and small, she takes as great an interest in the plight of a newly born sparrow as she does the crumbling of a nation state or the discovery of ‘world-changing’ technologies.
Each individual event is as beautiful, as tragic, as relevant, and as inconsequential as the next in her scheme of things.
Her scheme, that of the universe, places relevance only on the bigger picture. Little weight is given to the ‘how’. These transient details could be different, and the end still the same. They shape things gradually but are forgotten eventually: meanings negligible.
This is why she offers no greater reflection on the demise of an empire than the fortunes of the sparrow. The empire’s impact and input may well receive greater attention in the history books but books count for little when a planet stops. And even less when its star refuses to shine.
But do not think she does not love. She loves each and every action and entity. They are imbued with her love; she loves entirely. And she does so without falling victim to the associated loss of perspective. Humans regularly fail this test.
She sees the same beauty and irrelevance in death as she does in life. And thus she appreciates everything she observes with a detachment allowing for total admiration.
It begins, it ends, and it starts again: as it should, and as it does.