The universe is infinite. At least, best we know, it’s infinite. That means it goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on …
In this country, those who believe in an all-powerful God who can see within your heart and mind; who reads your intentions and has a plan for everything—well, they’re considered 100-percent normal and sane.
In this country, those who believe in life on other planets and UFOs are nuts.
For the record, I have no problem with a belief in God. In fact, I have no reason to think some sort of creator didn’t/doesn’t exist. I’m not 100 percent sure about the after-life, either. I’ve got my ideas, but I can’t say I know, for a fact, what happens. Nobody can. Even the most zealous among us.
What I can say, with some certainty, is that odds lean heavily in favor of UFOs over God. First, there have been sightings. Modern sightings. Perhaps all the sighters (so to speak) are nuts. But they do exist, and have wild and wacky stories to tell. Second, the endlessness of the universe suggests other intelligent life forms. To think we’re alone and chosen is to suggest a certain specialness that I’m unwilling to touch. Who’s to say that, gazllions or miles from here, a family of four Beeyopes (a word I invented right here, in Cosi) aren’t watching their own version of Friends on their very own Tghdsha (invented word No. 2) while sipping from large cups of Desja (No. 3)?
I’m not saying aliens exist. I’m not saying aliens don’t exist.
I’m just saying.
