I am deeply afraid that my stone is not big enough to stir the pond, that when I sing my death rattle no one will hear, I will have dented no bumpers and left no smudges on the world's windows.
I'm talking about the Human world, of course, the little one we've built underneath the real one. The real one is a whole other bag of marbles, I can't even begin to pull the string on it. It would be sinfully egotistic of me to concern myself with how I affected it. How could I? I have gravity, I attract the Sun and it attracts me, but who notices? A few of the more sensitive atoms, maybe. Gravity is not a distinction in this company. I am also increasing the entropy of the universe, slowly unraveling it by breathing and eating and everything else I do, and so are you and the Sun and your car and the germs on your body. It's a law of thermodynamics and there's no criminal genius out there who can break it.
So in the face of all that, I'm not concerned with the larger Universe we woke up into. I can devote a windy paragraph to how much it doesn't care about us, and it doesn't scare me much. I don't live up there.
No, the scary thing is, I'm down here, with you, and now gravity matters. Can you feel mine?
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