A microorganism happens into favorable enough conditions to
duplicate its DNA and multiply. In an instant, an entirely new
microorganism is rendered into existence. This new microbe looks out at an array of
colors and objects. Confused, it turns to its parent
microbe and asks, “What am I?” “Alive.” The parent microbe
says matter-of-factly, and then swims off, leaving the new microbe
to itself. The new microbe is hungry and confused. It
swims out across the vast landscape of its surroundings, pulled
by things it doesn’t understand; instructions written
into its DNA passed down from a lineage of 3 billion years of
prior parent microbes. Compelled by its genetic code, the new microbe
begins eating and adapting to its circumstances,
graduating through the ranks of its community, and engaging in a
system of trillions and trillions of other microbes, all providing
their own roles. Every day, the microbe works, eats, and communicates
with other members of the system it’s associated
with, making changes in itself and trying to maintain order of
its surroundings. As the microbe ages, though, it becomes increasingly
curious of what it is and what it’s doing. It was only ever told
that it was alive, and then it just started doing stuff. It
wonders what alive even means. And why so little an explanation?
It questions why it just goes around all day, working to survive
and surviving to work. “For what? It wonders. “What’s the point
of it all?” The weight of these thoughts increasingly
bares down on the microbe’s motivation, but something in it,
or out of it, keeps it going. It struggles through a period of
apathy, but the microbe soon becomes somewhat fueled by its
desire to resolve these thoughts, counterbalancing the negative
effects of its confusion with intrigue and curiosity. It’s
almost as if the microbe basically has no choice in the mater;
whether it cares to know what it is or isn’t, and how this
affects it. In all cases, it’s desire to keep living and carry
out its role seems to just adapt to it and find it all the same.
The microbe continues on, working and fulfilling its role,
spending much of its life looking for answers. It talks with
other microbes in its community about what they think. It
travels to other communities comprised of different microbes and
asks them. It looks around every corner, under every object,
into everything. It studies. It learns. It offers itself to all
sorts of ideas, never quite finding one that seems to hold.
Every time it thinks it’s found an answer, the answer eventually
collapses in on itself and the microbe moves onto something
else. Trying to find the point of everything sort of becomes the
point of everything for the microbe.
Each night, whenever it has the chance, the microbe looks
up at the seemingly unending darkness above it, sprinkled with
particles and various formations. It looks at the motion of
everything that surrounds it; the bodies of liquid infinitely
pushing and pulling all on their own. The air breathing back and
forth. The branches of something extending upward and swaying
about. It considers all the ideas and explanations it has heard
and learned. All the theories it has synthesized on its own. It
wonders, on and on, what it all must be. Because of its limited perception, however,
it never has nor ever will come anywhere close to knowing
that it is a gut bacteria inside the intestines of a human
body named Aerial. Aerial, an incomprehensibly larger organism,
is but entirely dependent on this microbe as well as most
of the trillions of others inside and on her. She is, however,
mostly unaware of this entire microbial universe that she houses.
This one particular microbe, known as a bacteroides fragiles, is essential to Aerial’s food
digestion. Her and the microbe persist in a feedback loop relationship;
Aerial providing the microbe with its environment,
food, and life, the microbe helping Aerial stay alive, assisting
her health and mood regulations by digesting fibers, providing
her nutrients, and communicating with her brain.
Essentially, without knowing, every time the microbe was
unhealthy, disengaged, or sedentary, Aerial suffered; and vice
versa. Furthermore, if either Aerial or the microbes gave up and
stopped entirely, the other could die, ending their particular
universe. In this moment, Aerial is sitting at the end
of a pier at a beach. It’s late in the evening on a Thursday.
She had a long day at work. She’s been struggling to find
motivation, but something in her, or out of her, keeps her
going. It’s almost as if she basically has no choice in the mater.
She eats some takeout as she looks up at the seemingly
unending darkness of the night sky sprinkled with particles and
various formations. She looks at the motion of everything that
surrounds her; the ocean infinitely pushing and pulling all on
its own. The air ceaselessly breathing back and forth. The
branches of the trees swaying about. Aerial looks out and
wonders what it all is. What it all must be for.
Because of her limited perception, though, she’ll never
come anywhere close to knowing what she is inside of nor how
important she is to it.