The galaxy may contain far more life than we imagine. Many ancient mythologies speak of sky beings who once visited Earth — and science fiction stories, as well as our dreams, so often seem to foreshadow truths that later unfold.

On Earth, especially since the rise of modern science and Darwinian thinking, much of the Western world has embraced the idea that life is merely about survival — that existence is accidental and without inherent meaning. Yet this worldview fails to explain the most fundamental mystery of all: our subjective experience. Science can describe the mechanisms of smell, sight, or sound — the transfer of information and its processing — but it says nothing about the inner experience itself: the scent of a rose, the color blue, the feeling of love.

It is as if, in the modern West, we pretend not to feel — as though the richness of inner life were an illusion. This is the great absurdity of our age. A purely utilitarian philosophy has made a mockery of our lived experience. The irony is that art, not science, is closer to ultimate truth — for creation exists to be felt. The universe was made so that we could experience beauty, wonder, and emotion. Beauty is not the accidental byproduct of a cold mechanism — it is the very reason the mechanism exists.

By denying meaning, we have built a world that reflects that denial: a civilization of survival and utility, stripped of heart and wonder. But other worlds — and other beings — know better. They care for what truly matters: consciousness, love, and the experience of being.

In the end, art is more true than science. Subjective experience is all that ultimately exists — and this whole reality is nothing but a dream. Let’s make it a better one