When you set your mind across the majestic pavilions of millennia, the meaning and Journey of life may take into solemnest experiences, mystical, awe-inspiring, of the most significance.
As old as the Ganges River in India, as fabulous and enigmatic as the Nile and Euphrates rivers in Egypt, the Hudson River is a portal-gate for a mind attuned across the ages of millennia.
(Russian Character, Hellena Blavatsky’s lines).
From 1988 to 2014, I lived just a few blocks off the legendary soothing waters of the Hudson River. Time and time again, and just before dusk, I would go out to sound the depth, ineffable beauty and delicate pastures of those lovely hills across the silvery waters of the Hudson River (Psalm 121).
Just around sunset, I would often place myself on the upper terrace's slab overlooking the Divine Hudson River (from 153rd street to 162nd Street and Riverside Drive).
A long, ever-stretching wall separated this world from the other, and all I had to do was to quaff a delicious drink of the upper heaven's streams, and forthwith, all the hurdles of this life could be overcome with a unshakable conviction in the powers of Divinity.
Perched like a bird on the very brink of a slab, the terrace, I was often carried away into celestial shores, however free of charge, but signed with the generous transport of air, water, light and magic, such mystical experience smacked of elysian worlds, sylvan places, which are accessible but only to a mind attuned in the writings of Henri Bergson, the Walden Pond of Henry D. Thoreau, or the mystical experiences of Jacob Boeheme.
(Russian Character, Hellena Blavatsky’s lines).
From 1988 to 2014, I lived just a few blocks off the legendary soothing waters of the Hudson River. Time and time again, and just before dusk, I would go out to sound the depth, ineffable beauty and delicate pastures of those lovely hills across the silvery waters of the Hudson River (Psalm 121).
Just around sunset, I would often place myself on the upper terrace's slab overlooking the Divine Hudson River (from 153rd street to 162nd Street and Riverside Drive).
A long, ever-stretching wall separated this world from the other, and all I had to do was to quaff a delicious drink of the upper heaven's streams, and forthwith, all the hurdles of this life could be overcome with a unshakable conviction in the powers of Divinity.
Perched like a bird on the very brink of a slab, the terrace, I was often carried away into celestial shores, however free of charge, but signed with the generous transport of air, water, light and magic, such mystical experience smacked of elysian worlds, sylvan places, which are accessible but only to a mind attuned in the writings of Henri Bergson, the Walden Pond of Henry D. Thoreau, or the mystical experiences of Jacob Boeheme.
My only requisite, as required by the higher elders of perfection, purity and divinity, was, that I would cleanse my mind and heart from the pollution of New York City; and that in the flow and hurly-burly of urban life, I would develop higher inner faculties —the shimmering sparks of conscience, love, sentience— so as to build within my bosom a greater fortress against the noxious alluvium of human ingratitude, callousness and the toxic effects of civilization.
(My diary, summer of 1992)
As I set my eyes unto the meaning of those lovely, dark-greened hills in yonder hazy distance, New Jersey’s generous scenic landscapes, I was completely transformed by the grandest spectacle of golden beams of light pouring profusely into the glaucous waters of this absolutely beautiful Hudson River.
(1995—) The sun's beams created a veritable portal gate which could transport me into the outer limits of this earthly world's shore; and perhaps my consciousness was awakening to a new revelation in the question of time and space, for I fancied to be not only here or there on that glorious spot, but even new horizons and worlds seemed to have dawned just before the threshold of ontology and the twilight of being.
Few wonders could be more spectacular, mystical, uplifting than this Holy Union between water and light in the breathtaking powers of Mother Nature.
The Sun's glorious blazing face, just like my former heart's thrills and dread in the prime of my youth, would simply bath the Divine River with loveliest tints of gold —shimmering lights unimaginable.
I could not wish for a happier existence!
Indeed, I had to thank this awesome River, a veritable living book, for stirring in my heart an unquenchable longing for a dreamtime in the past.
On the the Law of Recurrence, the Hudson River, and the Iliad & the Odyssey of Homer
From 1993 to 2014, I spent countless hours roving through the banks of the Hudson River (from 145th Street to the foot of the George Washington bridge, 178th Street).
During that time, I had developed a peculiar congeniality to this lovely river which seems to speak the ineffable language of recurrence better than any writer or philosopher.
The transcendent communication is one of the most personal, intimate, nay, numinous in the decipherment of a wordless language which speaks directly to the heart and mind.
This vast stream of gentle waters would simply hone my mind's faculties, my inner senses aglow with awe, humility and reverence, to the appreciation of those thrilling moments, which, could make us pause most pensively, however imponderable, the meaning of life when confronted with the eddying streams of a splendid vast river.
I often wondered which ancient civilizations may had built their splendid cities, thrived and eventually disappeared along this same old path?
While some neighbors would rather go to distant places in search of awe-inspiring views and past civilizations, I have this splendid stream of hoary waters girding the Isle of Manhattan, the Hudson River, which is a veritable living book for me.
Its silvery waters, after all these years of pollution, have become a little tad sullied and redolent of musty things, but few things in New York could rival the incomparable power of this majestic River to reconnecting me with things fabulous, mystical, ancient.
Across its voluminous body, one could see its imperial domain leaving their conspicuous marks on the turret-wall of history.
At intervals, and as evinced by its dry checked marks in yonder ranges, New Jersey’s palisades, the Hudson River, in the distant past, may had claimed a larger watery domain over the Isle of Manhattan.
The Sweet River, like any other lovely stream admissible, nay, inviting for an internal baptism or renovation, has a soothing power in my mind and soul, healing effects which I often trace back to its ever-eddying gentle waters.
When fronting this Awesome River, one seems to be transported into another world no less enigmatic, fabulous and spacious than the Sahara desert.
Though you will not find the ruins of past civilizations strewn along its banks, the Hudson River seems to bring me back the haunting voices of humanity in ways scarcely comprehensible.
You are rich if you can understand the ineffable language of a vast River.
This River is beautiful, but some days, while clapped in looping filaments of mist and haze, it seems to veil the Isle of Manhattan in a Twilight Zone.
At such moments, vaporous formless genies of fogs and haze, ever-rolling up in sibylline beings of magic and dread, seem to ferry us further, further and further into the fascinating expanses of the unknown.
Further in view, lo and behold, a receding Fata Morgana, wafting like a city built mid air, may invite my thoughts to sound the depths of time and space.
Most big cities, since ancient times, have been built near or around the eddying water of a splendid river: the Lethe, Styx, Xanthus, lovely Enipeus of Tyro —the fairest of floods that ever ran upon the earth (the Odyssey of Homer, Book XI) among many other renown ancient streams, were as real and divine as the Hudson River's silvery waters.
The Hudson River, probably known to the ancient people of Ilios in the Iliad, could have been mentioned in their sacred literature, albeit with another obscure name, which today is very difficult to relocate due the lapse of time (3,000 years or even 5, 000 years into the foggy remote past).
Vague memories of wondrous rivers, but also references of hills, glens and sun-bathed dales are carried on in the nostalgic lore and hazy myths among the bedraggled survivors of yesteryears.
While fronting this awesome River, we may become philosophers the very moment we start marveling at the meaning of life, the history of humanity and the vastness of this cosmos; and philosophy has its true fervent passion when verging on the speculative, the hitherto unsolved puzzles and mysteries of the distant past.
Let us re-appraise the ancient people and their astounding degree of aesthetic sensibilities when dealing with the fine thoughts and sentiments of life as expressed in their sublime literature.
We are told by the most intelligent minds of the last two hundred years, that it is quite a mystery, and a case against linear evolution, how certain people thousands of years ago were so keen as to resolve the most incredibly subtle rules of writing and style, their peculiar fondness for flowing nuances in their choice of diction, conveying with very pleasant euphonious words the subjective and the objective with equal force and beauty.
Surprisingly, in the Iliad and the Odyssey, we may find highly developed language-structures, polished grammar and the art of communication so perfected, that Homer could well serve as a model, the epitome of perfection, for some current writers to imitate without feeling antiquated, or out-dated in the use of logic and simile.
Not to mention these ancient people's ideas on the ineffable, divine, beautiful and sublime. Indeed, few writers and savants could rival the ancient scribes in fire of expression, tropes and naturalism: (Check the objective analogies of Homer and his power to keep soaring in poetic beauty with very few forced, crammed-in passages and digressions.)
Of course, perhaps these ancient bards simply imitated their predecessors. And when you continue going further back into remote time, the origin of literature, beauty and the fantastic may blur into the very heaven of the divine and mysterious (at least in certain regions of Asia and Asia minor, especially in Greece and Egypt, amazing vestiges of exquisite refinement and high culture, competing with the Metropolitan Museum of Art).
It seems as though highly sophisticated societies thrived at intervals in the pristine dawn of Homo sapiens, albeit traces of grim barbarism and primitiveness are to be found everywhere on this old globe as confirmed by archeology, for nihilism, chaos and disorder are the ever- present, co-existing, threatening forces to any rise to civilization.
It is very plausible to suspect recurrent crisis of technology and civilization in the foggy myths of ancient India and the other strikingly scientific lore among certain seemingly savage African tribes, thus corroborating our previous e-mails on the possibility of curving time and ever-converging episodes in tragic history.
And once again, we may say with the author of Ecclesiastes: "there is nothing new under the sun."
From my own observations, our disdain and neglect of the ancient master-works may be based on this absurd, indeed baseless opinion, that in such distant past, mankind could not have developed the magical tools and technology to achieving the wonders of flying vehicles (Vimanas), or their astonishing profound comprehension of the observable cosmos.
Of course, we all know that the further we go into remote time, the more we marvel at the greatness and mysterious origin of some pagan people.
Before the Iliad and the Odyssey were written, other ancient sagas recount feuds and wars rife among the children of aurora, especially those chronicles as translated from the Sanskrit or the Vedas.
Therein we may read of wonderful machines, destructive weapons and flying objects, bearing striking similarities to our current jets and rockets, and how they were beset with the same complex problems of survival and other predicaments —as the ones we are now facing in post-America, (peruse the Mahabharata, Upanishads and other archaic writings by such mysterious authors.)
Can we go back to primitive society and barbarism on the brink of a major nuclear disaster and steady decline in culture?
If you look at the pattern of history, I am very skeptical that our current, bi-partisan, diplomatic, ever-grinning post-modern men and women would be any different than their ancient counter-parts, constantly at wars with themselves.
Accordingly, mankind are bound to perpetuate the same silly mistakes and historic errors over and over, bringing our feeble colossal buildings —once again— to wracks and ashes.
Nevertheless, like in times past, a few snouting hillocks and scattered remnants will remain here and there as testaments, irrefutable evidences against mankind’s intrinsically predatory nature, to provide our future historians and scholars with some speculative inklings, yet sealed in the indelible characters of scattered stones and megalithic structures helter-skelter.
It is very likely that when dealing with the transcendent question of Man and Destiny, many recurrent episodes are in keeping with fixed resolutions —as perhaps inevitable— in human loses and tragedies, that are, indeed, quite beyond the scope of our all-too-human understanding. The world is but a recycle of civilizations. It is a monster ever feeding upon the carcasses of its own children.
A universal disaster, nuclear or otherwise one occasioned by whimsical forces in the offing, is always looming in the horizon of our old planet.
Who would survive the to-morrow of our technological hubris?
Where are we going dear Shanti (peace in Sanskrit?
We touched upon the possibility that squirrel-like entities, perhaps sleeping in the prodigious womb of Mother Nature, may be waiting for another striking chord and daybreak according to ideas that seem to be in line with the philosophy of Plato, Schopenhauer, Kant, A. Einstein and John Milton.
We may surmise this and other possibilities, a new dawn, based on what we have hitherto learned and gleaned from the sacred literatures of ancient peoples, as being in harmony with our latest understanding of time and space —only existing as relative phenomena to the beholder.
Furthermore, we are the more astounded when we bear witness that other innocent species have wonderfully survived next to Homo sapiens, and much to our surprise, with little aggression to other species.
The squirrel-case alone may —from the survival of the fittest— defy our narrow idea of intelligence and purpose as exclusive to Homo sapiens' self-entitlements and prerogatives.
My dear Homo sapiens and friends, what more awful calamities could potentially unfold in the day after to-morrow due to mankind's unbridled onslaught on Mother Nature?
It seems there is something inevitably probable in the erratic nature of mankind; and perhaps Mother Nature will strike first —to get rid of some trouble-makers.
These are potential evils which not even the stanchest of pessimists in the nineteenth century could have foreseen, nor imagined a technologically advanced civilization with the power to halting the fundamentals of life on the surface of the Earth.
We have developed destructive weapons, fire-spurting machines, a flashing technology that could unleash unknown devils into our very midst.
With the advent of AI, we will see ghastly hybrids setting loose electric rattlesnakes that would creep around, more horrid and lurid than anything previously conceived in the ingenious womb of Nature or Tartarus.
Which devils could match these electronic mammals?
Nevertheless, according to John Fiske on "The Unseen World," and to a certain extent the physic of A. Einstein, even if this planet were to be shattered into its minor constituent parts and pristine elements, there would be, however reduced to its intrinsic nature —and as verified by the infallible laws of mechanics and the second law of thermodynamic— underlying gravitational and cohesive forces that seem to re-establish the inevitable scenario for new cosmic experiments, and hence, potentially fertile ground for the recurrence of life on a new earth is not to be discarded.
As such, the phenomenology of this planet and others, are but the result of very entangled, interwoven and complicated cosmic forces (...) that are, mysteriously, in no way too easily upset by the annihilation of this present objectified reality. Like Shanti (peace in Sanskrit) in the wood, the hidden X is but saved from the seemingly endless changes taking place in this visible material realm of constant flux and pandemonium.
Therefore, at due point, a new world would see a new heaven, according to these eternal kinetic forces, divine life-given powers, that are not, in the least, affected by the end of this current system of fleeting things.
Is the Sun-Star the author of such phenomenal cohesion?
There are so many mysteries concerning energy and matter out there, but we may infer that the conditions for the planet earth to repeat its second round, re-birth, must be sought in the striking attraction, indeed, happy coincidences these gravitational forces must exert to bringing about the necessary conditions for such dawning possibility; conditions that could be inferred by the natural, yet mathematical distribution of celestial bodies in space.
Note: (we may infer the happy-conditions of this earth as inevitable, impelled to exist by non-negotiable laws, and conformed to the size and nature of our local Sun-star, a phenomenon that must be very common with many other stars out there.)
—And how would the law of supply and demand be subservient to imperishable energies to repeat the next cycle?
It is fascinating, and alike wonderful and wondrously hopeful to some Christian friends out there, to admit this universe (especially a planet so beautiful like the Earth) as not really losing the vital X= "will-to-exist- at- any-cost" for a second round, at least, as long as the Star-Sun could provide the essential, necessary heat for those propitious elements and happy compounds to coalesce themselves for another Miltonic Twilight!
(My diary, summer of 1992)
As I set my eyes unto the meaning of those lovely, dark-greened hills in yonder hazy distance, New Jersey’s generous scenic landscapes, I was completely transformed by the grandest spectacle of golden beams of light pouring profusely into the glaucous waters of this absolutely beautiful Hudson River.
(1995—) The sun's beams created a veritable portal gate which could transport me into the outer limits of this earthly world's shore; and perhaps my consciousness was awakening to a new revelation in the question of time and space, for I fancied to be not only here or there on that glorious spot, but even new horizons and worlds seemed to have dawned just before the threshold of ontology and the twilight of being.
Few wonders could be more spectacular, mystical, uplifting than this Holy Union between water and light in the breathtaking powers of Mother Nature.
The Sun's glorious blazing face, just like my former heart's thrills and dread in the prime of my youth, would simply bath the Divine River with loveliest tints of gold —shimmering lights unimaginable.
I could not wish for a happier existence!
Indeed, I had to thank this awesome River, a veritable living book, for stirring in my heart an unquenchable longing for a dreamtime in the past.
On the the Law of Recurrence, the Hudson River, and the Iliad & the Odyssey of Homer
From 1993 to 2014, I spent countless hours roving through the banks of the Hudson River (from 145th Street to the foot of the George Washington bridge, 178th Street).
During that time, I had developed a peculiar congeniality to this lovely river which seems to speak the ineffable language of recurrence better than any writer or philosopher.
The transcendent communication is one of the most personal, intimate, nay, numinous in the decipherment of a wordless language which speaks directly to the heart and mind.
This vast stream of gentle waters would simply hone my mind's faculties, my inner senses aglow with awe, humility and reverence, to the appreciation of those thrilling moments, which, could make us pause most pensively, however imponderable, the meaning of life when confronted with the eddying streams of a splendid vast river.
I often wondered which ancient civilizations may had built their splendid cities, thrived and eventually disappeared along this same old path?
While some neighbors would rather go to distant places in search of awe-inspiring views and past civilizations, I have this splendid stream of hoary waters girding the Isle of Manhattan, the Hudson River, which is a veritable living book for me.
Its silvery waters, after all these years of pollution, have become a little tad sullied and redolent of musty things, but few things in New York could rival the incomparable power of this majestic River to reconnecting me with things fabulous, mystical, ancient.
Across its voluminous body, one could see its imperial domain leaving their conspicuous marks on the turret-wall of history.
At intervals, and as evinced by its dry checked marks in yonder ranges, New Jersey’s palisades, the Hudson River, in the distant past, may had claimed a larger watery domain over the Isle of Manhattan.
The Sweet River, like any other lovely stream admissible, nay, inviting for an internal baptism or renovation, has a soothing power in my mind and soul, healing effects which I often trace back to its ever-eddying gentle waters.
When fronting this Awesome River, one seems to be transported into another world no less enigmatic, fabulous and spacious than the Sahara desert.
Though you will not find the ruins of past civilizations strewn along its banks, the Hudson River seems to bring me back the haunting voices of humanity in ways scarcely comprehensible.
You are rich if you can understand the ineffable language of a vast River.
This River is beautiful, but some days, while clapped in looping filaments of mist and haze, it seems to veil the Isle of Manhattan in a Twilight Zone.
At such moments, vaporous formless genies of fogs and haze, ever-rolling up in sibylline beings of magic and dread, seem to ferry us further, further and further into the fascinating expanses of the unknown.
Further in view, lo and behold, a receding Fata Morgana, wafting like a city built mid air, may invite my thoughts to sound the depths of time and space.
Most big cities, since ancient times, have been built near or around the eddying water of a splendid river: the Lethe, Styx, Xanthus, lovely Enipeus of Tyro —the fairest of floods that ever ran upon the earth (the Odyssey of Homer, Book XI) among many other renown ancient streams, were as real and divine as the Hudson River's silvery waters.
The Hudson River, probably known to the ancient people of Ilios in the Iliad, could have been mentioned in their sacred literature, albeit with another obscure name, which today is very difficult to relocate due the lapse of time (3,000 years or even 5, 000 years into the foggy remote past).
Vague memories of wondrous rivers, but also references of hills, glens and sun-bathed dales are carried on in the nostalgic lore and hazy myths among the bedraggled survivors of yesteryears.
While fronting this awesome River, we may become philosophers the very moment we start marveling at the meaning of life, the history of humanity and the vastness of this cosmos; and philosophy has its true fervent passion when verging on the speculative, the hitherto unsolved puzzles and mysteries of the distant past.
Let us re-appraise the ancient people and their astounding degree of aesthetic sensibilities when dealing with the fine thoughts and sentiments of life as expressed in their sublime literature.
We are told by the most intelligent minds of the last two hundred years, that it is quite a mystery, and a case against linear evolution, how certain people thousands of years ago were so keen as to resolve the most incredibly subtle rules of writing and style, their peculiar fondness for flowing nuances in their choice of diction, conveying with very pleasant euphonious words the subjective and the objective with equal force and beauty.
Surprisingly, in the Iliad and the Odyssey, we may find highly developed language-structures, polished grammar and the art of communication so perfected, that Homer could well serve as a model, the epitome of perfection, for some current writers to imitate without feeling antiquated, or out-dated in the use of logic and simile.
Not to mention these ancient people's ideas on the ineffable, divine, beautiful and sublime. Indeed, few writers and savants could rival the ancient scribes in fire of expression, tropes and naturalism: (Check the objective analogies of Homer and his power to keep soaring in poetic beauty with very few forced, crammed-in passages and digressions.)
Of course, perhaps these ancient bards simply imitated their predecessors. And when you continue going further back into remote time, the origin of literature, beauty and the fantastic may blur into the very heaven of the divine and mysterious (at least in certain regions of Asia and Asia minor, especially in Greece and Egypt, amazing vestiges of exquisite refinement and high culture, competing with the Metropolitan Museum of Art).
It seems as though highly sophisticated societies thrived at intervals in the pristine dawn of Homo sapiens, albeit traces of grim barbarism and primitiveness are to be found everywhere on this old globe as confirmed by archeology, for nihilism, chaos and disorder are the ever- present, co-existing, threatening forces to any rise to civilization.
It is very plausible to suspect recurrent crisis of technology and civilization in the foggy myths of ancient India and the other strikingly scientific lore among certain seemingly savage African tribes, thus corroborating our previous e-mails on the possibility of curving time and ever-converging episodes in tragic history.
And once again, we may say with the author of Ecclesiastes: "there is nothing new under the sun."
From my own observations, our disdain and neglect of the ancient master-works may be based on this absurd, indeed baseless opinion, that in such distant past, mankind could not have developed the magical tools and technology to achieving the wonders of flying vehicles (Vimanas), or their astonishing profound comprehension of the observable cosmos.
Of course, we all know that the further we go into remote time, the more we marvel at the greatness and mysterious origin of some pagan people.
Before the Iliad and the Odyssey were written, other ancient sagas recount feuds and wars rife among the children of aurora, especially those chronicles as translated from the Sanskrit or the Vedas.
Therein we may read of wonderful machines, destructive weapons and flying objects, bearing striking similarities to our current jets and rockets, and how they were beset with the same complex problems of survival and other predicaments —as the ones we are now facing in post-America, (peruse the Mahabharata, Upanishads and other archaic writings by such mysterious authors.)
Can we go back to primitive society and barbarism on the brink of a major nuclear disaster and steady decline in culture?
If you look at the pattern of history, I am very skeptical that our current, bi-partisan, diplomatic, ever-grinning post-modern men and women would be any different than their ancient counter-parts, constantly at wars with themselves.
Accordingly, mankind are bound to perpetuate the same silly mistakes and historic errors over and over, bringing our feeble colossal buildings —once again— to wracks and ashes.
Nevertheless, like in times past, a few snouting hillocks and scattered remnants will remain here and there as testaments, irrefutable evidences against mankind’s intrinsically predatory nature, to provide our future historians and scholars with some speculative inklings, yet sealed in the indelible characters of scattered stones and megalithic structures helter-skelter.
It is very likely that when dealing with the transcendent question of Man and Destiny, many recurrent episodes are in keeping with fixed resolutions —as perhaps inevitable— in human loses and tragedies, that are, indeed, quite beyond the scope of our all-too-human understanding. The world is but a recycle of civilizations. It is a monster ever feeding upon the carcasses of its own children.
A universal disaster, nuclear or otherwise one occasioned by whimsical forces in the offing, is always looming in the horizon of our old planet.
Who would survive the to-morrow of our technological hubris?
Where are we going dear Shanti (peace in Sanskrit?
We touched upon the possibility that squirrel-like entities, perhaps sleeping in the prodigious womb of Mother Nature, may be waiting for another striking chord and daybreak according to ideas that seem to be in line with the philosophy of Plato, Schopenhauer, Kant, A. Einstein and John Milton.
We may surmise this and other possibilities, a new dawn, based on what we have hitherto learned and gleaned from the sacred literatures of ancient peoples, as being in harmony with our latest understanding of time and space —only existing as relative phenomena to the beholder.
Furthermore, we are the more astounded when we bear witness that other innocent species have wonderfully survived next to Homo sapiens, and much to our surprise, with little aggression to other species.
The squirrel-case alone may —from the survival of the fittest— defy our narrow idea of intelligence and purpose as exclusive to Homo sapiens' self-entitlements and prerogatives.
My dear Homo sapiens and friends, what more awful calamities could potentially unfold in the day after to-morrow due to mankind's unbridled onslaught on Mother Nature?
It seems there is something inevitably probable in the erratic nature of mankind; and perhaps Mother Nature will strike first —to get rid of some trouble-makers.
These are potential evils which not even the stanchest of pessimists in the nineteenth century could have foreseen, nor imagined a technologically advanced civilization with the power to halting the fundamentals of life on the surface of the Earth.
We have developed destructive weapons, fire-spurting machines, a flashing technology that could unleash unknown devils into our very midst.
With the advent of AI, we will see ghastly hybrids setting loose electric rattlesnakes that would creep around, more horrid and lurid than anything previously conceived in the ingenious womb of Nature or Tartarus.
Which devils could match these electronic mammals?
Nevertheless, according to John Fiske on "The Unseen World," and to a certain extent the physic of A. Einstein, even if this planet were to be shattered into its minor constituent parts and pristine elements, there would be, however reduced to its intrinsic nature —and as verified by the infallible laws of mechanics and the second law of thermodynamic— underlying gravitational and cohesive forces that seem to re-establish the inevitable scenario for new cosmic experiments, and hence, potentially fertile ground for the recurrence of life on a new earth is not to be discarded.
As such, the phenomenology of this planet and others, are but the result of very entangled, interwoven and complicated cosmic forces (...) that are, mysteriously, in no way too easily upset by the annihilation of this present objectified reality. Like Shanti (peace in Sanskrit) in the wood, the hidden X is but saved from the seemingly endless changes taking place in this visible material realm of constant flux and pandemonium.
Therefore, at due point, a new world would see a new heaven, according to these eternal kinetic forces, divine life-given powers, that are not, in the least, affected by the end of this current system of fleeting things.
Is the Sun-Star the author of such phenomenal cohesion?
There are so many mysteries concerning energy and matter out there, but we may infer that the conditions for the planet earth to repeat its second round, re-birth, must be sought in the striking attraction, indeed, happy coincidences these gravitational forces must exert to bringing about the necessary conditions for such dawning possibility; conditions that could be inferred by the natural, yet mathematical distribution of celestial bodies in space.
Note: (we may infer the happy-conditions of this earth as inevitable, impelled to exist by non-negotiable laws, and conformed to the size and nature of our local Sun-star, a phenomenon that must be very common with many other stars out there.)
—And how would the law of supply and demand be subservient to imperishable energies to repeat the next cycle?
It is fascinating, and alike wonderful and wondrously hopeful to some Christian friends out there, to admit this universe (especially a planet so beautiful like the Earth) as not really losing the vital X= "will-to-exist- at- any-cost" for a second round, at least, as long as the Star-Sun could provide the essential, necessary heat for those propitious elements and happy compounds to coalesce themselves for another Miltonic Twilight!