{"id":"01KG8AKRWTS2JB77QKZCGYWDFG","cid":"bafkreibt3riweeq7yjijev2ygh37t3wiis2wlhtlhjjdhnyllhydfghsai","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":9927,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 2","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":9864,"text":"spawn and depart. We inhabit but a crust, rough surfaces, odds and ends\r\nof the isles; the abounding lagoon being its two-thirds, its grand\r\nfeature from afar; and forever unfathomable.\r\n\r\n“‘What shaft has yet been sunk to the antipodes? What underlieth the\r\ngold mines?\r\n\r\n“‘But even here, above-ground, we grope with the sun at meridian.\r\nVainly, we seek our Northwest Passages,—old alleys, and thoroughfares\r\nof the whales.\r\n\r\n“‘Oh men! fellow men! we are only what we are; not what we would be;\r\nnor every thing we hope for. We are but a step in a scale, that reaches\r\nfurther above us than below. We breathe but oxygen. Who in Arcturus\r\nhath heard of us? They know us not in the Milky Way. We prate of\r\nfaculties divine: and know not how sprouteth a spear of grass; we go\r\nabout shrugging our shoulders: when the firmament-arch is over us; we\r\nrant of etherealities: and long tarry over our banquets; we demand\r\nEternity for a lifetime: when our mortal half-hours too often prove\r\ntedious. We know not of what we talk. The Bird of Paradise out-flies\r\nour flutterings. What it is to be immortal, has not yet entered into\r\nour thoughts. At will, we build our futurities; tier above tier, all\r\ngalleries full of laureates: resounding with everlasting oratorios!\r\nPater-nosters forever, or eternal Misereres! forgetting that in Mardi,\r\nour breviaries oft fall from our hands. But divans there are, some say,\r\nwhereon we shall recline, basking in effulgent suns, knowing neither\r\nOrient nor Occident. Is it so? Fellow men! our mortal lives have an\r\nend; but that end is no goal: no place of repose. Whatever it may be,\r\nit will prove but as the beginning of another race. We will hope, joy,\r\nweep, as before; though our tears may be such as the spice-trees shed.\r\nSupine we can only be, annihilated.\r\n\r\n“‘The thick film is breaking; the ages have long been circling.\r\nFellow-men! if we live hereafter, it will not be in lyrics; nor shall\r\nwe yawn, and our shadows lengthen, while the eternal cycles are\r\nrevolving. To live at all, is a high vocation; to live forever, and run\r\nparallel with Oro, may truly appall us. Toil we not here? and shall we\r\nbe forever slothful elsewhere? Other worlds differ not much from this,\r\nbut in degree. Doubtless, a pebble is a fair specimen of the universe.\r\n\r\n“‘We point at random. Peradventure at this instant, there are beings\r\ngazing up to this very world as their future heaven. But the universe\r\nis all over a heaven: nothing but stars on stars, throughout infinities\r\nof expansion. All we see are but a cluster. Could we get to Bootes, we\r\nwould be no nearer Oro, than now he hath no place; but is here.\r\nAlready, in its unimaginable roamings, our system may have dragged us\r\nthrough and through the spaces, where we plant cities of beryl and\r\njasper. Even now, we may be inhaling the ether, which we fancy seraphic\r\nwings are fanning. But look round. There is much to be seen here, and\r\nnow. Do the archangels survey aught more glorious than the\r\nconstellations we nightly behold? Continually we slight the wonders, we\r\ndeem in reserve. We await the present. With marvels we are glutted,\r\ntill we hold them no marvels at all. But had these eyes first opened\r\nupon all the prodigies in the Revelation of the Dreamer, long\r\nfamiliarity would have made them appear, even as these things we see.\r\nNow, _now_, the page is out-spread: to the simple, easy as a primer; to\r\nthe wise, more puzzling than hieroglyphics. The eternity to come, is\r\nbut a prolongation of time present: and the beginning may be more\r\nwonderful than the end.\r\n\r\n“‘Then let us be wise. But much of the knowledge we seek, already we\r\nhave in our cores. Yet so simple it is, we despise it; so bold, we fear\r\nit.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 2"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJW01NTY9T3WTV2B4B6JJ","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKRWTQHY4VQZND3HCAR7A","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKRWT31D272T9G3TAGHH5","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:15.258Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:27.495Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}