Too Much Information
"World without end. Amen."
So goes a part of the old prayer, though our part of the world, our green and blue globe, may indeed end, and that end will be made by people in a factory.
Of course, that's only true if you think our globe is the world, and it's not.
The world is forever, going on and on and on, outrunning scientists and astronauts and preachers and philosophers and the signal that sends World Cup soccer into your big-screen TV in Rulo, Nebraska.
And you're on your little wooden ship, sailing out of sight of land, and you think the world may end just beyond the next wave, but just before the entire crew dies of scurvy, there's more land, more world.
And millions of years ago, people looked up at the night sky like it was a roof, and only the smart ones ever asked what was beyond the roof. Maybe it was where God lived because if he was God, he sure as hell wouldn't live in a flea-infested hut the way you lived.
So, you burned offerings, pigs and chickens and leaves and sometimes a person and, eventually, incense, and the smoke went up to forever, where God lived.
The internet, which is a mixed curse, is currently abloom with pictures of forever, pictures of deep space, pictures of part of forever sent back by the James Webb telescope.
A picture of my front yard is also a picture of forever. It's just a piece of forever closer to me, because forever never stops, and it's all in one piece, and you'll never find God because he has all of forever as a place to hide.
I hate forever. It scares the hell out of me. I like an end to things.