All too often, we let ourselves be ruled by business as usual, by archaic codes and authoritarian structures. We worship patriarchal gods such as The Economy and The Man with the Beard in the Sky. We are in the business of keeping each other small, of rich people ruling over impoverished people, majority cultures over minority cultures, men over women…And in the meantime endangering our future and that of everything around us by ruthlessly striving for even more dominance over each other and over the forests, oceans and fields that gave us life itself.

But we are destined for more. Each of us walks around carrying in her skull the most refined tool this corner of the galaxy has to offer. We own, no in fact we are a fountain of sparkling thoughts, a catalyst of autonomy and creativity and an observatory of the million-coloured theatre that is this world. We can see and feel, and frankly in our guts we already know, that this world is an organic, living system that we flow from and are just a small part of, that we will go down with if it falls, and in which we can flourish if it does. The dynamic human spirit that refuses to submit to business as usual wills itself a movement to get us out of the Dark Ages. And today, it happily picks a day to commemorate it.

Much of the festivities celebrated in western countries revolve around the curious fables of an eccentric Palestinian hippy who lived around Caesars time and has through a bizarre chain of events become known as The Messiah to about a quarter of the world population. Then there are some secular celebrations, such as Queens Day in the Netherlands – another example of archaic mockery – and New Year’s Eve, a great party indeed. But whereas Big Bang Day does not oppose New Year’s, it looks upon it as on a younger sibling. On New Year’s, we celebrate that our fragile spacecraft has yet again circled it’s accompanying hydrogen bomb, and with most of us still on it. That and Love, Friendship and other brain-melting stimuli.

But why keep it so limited? A circle around the Sun? Ten billion kilometres? Open your eyes and see! The Earth is no more then the salty residue at the bottom of a drop of sweat on the fur of a wild beast, cavorting around in green meadows, chasing neon dreams. There are hundreds of billions of atoms in a grain of sand, hundreds of billions of grains of sand on our planet, hundreds of billions of planets in the galaxy, hundreds of billions of galaxies in the universe, that undoubtedly is nothing more than a bubble in a seething panuniversal foam where universes like ours come and go by the hundreds of billions. According to estimates, there are about ballet dancing particles in our universe alone. The current plan is nothing more and nothing less than to sing a little song in addition to this Great Ballet taking place on the mattress on which time and space copulate.


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