Think of a breadbox. There are many things smaller than a breadbox: wood cell and glue molcules, nuclei, atoms, electrons, the impossible randomness of quarks, the new horizon of philosophical material and great fate of the universe, along the path we think we are upon-- and there are many things larger: human birth and fear of death, history before it was built and after it was burned (when it stopped accumulating the cigarette burns and bread mold, glitter glue and B-vitamin enhansed wilk spills). There are many things which can fit inside a breadbox: the deforestation of a beautiful continent, the slow technological developments of wood glue and the bland complexity of the patent protection process, the influence the rising Soviet Union had on kitchen furniture, back in the day. There are many things which cannot: an adult human child, for they could find the cramped corners and smothering scent of childhood white bread overwhelming. And beyond those: things completely unrelated to the humble breadbox, not the least of which are your great-to-the-450th degree grandparents, who live in dry caves, crushing pigmented berries in their fingers and creating holy rituals out of grief. And how can there not have been a God who wanted to be seen? Who loved the joy of discovery? There's so much to marvel at: that it is there and that we have the will to move within it.
