Are We Alone—If Yes—Then What?
- Kris J. Simpson
- Apr 11
- 6 min read
Everything was great until I noticed the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped. Something didn’t seem right, but I was already on my third beer, so I didn’t pay much attention to it, and looking around me, nobody else did either. But looking back now, that’s when things started to get weird.
We had been out in this part of the woods since we were kids, but now our recreation was of a different sort. Instead of climbing trees during the day, our extracurricular activities always occurred in the dark and revolved around a case of beer and a bonfire. On this particular summer night, it was so dark that we were almost bumping into trees on our way to the clearing in the forest where we had dug out a fire pit.
I would say it was about another hour or so when we couldn’t help but notice the wind, which was now so strong that it was blowing the leaves off the trees and picking up forest debris, whipping it around us as if we were in a cyclone. This might not be unusual for someone in the Midwest US, but for young boys in Northern Ontario—cyclones weren’t a thing.
It all became very quiet at that point, and although nobody would voice it, since we were young adolescent boys full of bravado, all our faces wore the same expression—we were scared to death.
That only lasted a few minutes before the forest lit up with this blinding white light. I could barely keep my eyes open; it was like staring directly at the sun. The wind was howling so loud I had to put my hands over my ears as we all crouched down around the fire that was now just a small pile of burning embers, most of the wood being carried off by the wind.
Then it became dark again like someone had turned off the light switch. With the wind still whirling around us, I looked up, and what I saw will never leave my memory. It looked like a massive metal object, maybe five times the size of the clearing we were in. It might have been 100-150 feet above us, and it just hovered, with no sound being omitted, just a dark luminous shape…
If you haven’t figured this out, the story above is about a UFO sighting. I just made it up, basing it on the all too similar stories that have been told thousands of times, not just by Canadians and Americans but by different people all over the planet.
The claims of alien life coming to Earth from outer space continue to fuel conspiracy theories about government cover-ups. Sometimes, grainy photos of aircraft that don’t resemble any planes that I have flown on.
Instead, they look more like the craft used by the Great Gazoo in the cartoon “The Flintstones” for his regular visits to see Fred and Barney, whom he affectionately called “Dum-Dums.”
If anyone reading this article has had an encounter with an alien life form, I apologize for my condescension. Forgive me since I have not had such experiences, and I may be proven wrong in the future — or maybe not.
I can imagine that if you travelled back into ancient history, there may have been similar stories about life beyond, rejecting the idea that we might be alone in this universe. I don’t blame anyone for feeling frightened by that proposition, as the vastness of the universe indeed makes it a scary thought.
In the world of science, this phenomenon is called the “Fermi Paradox,” which was developed by physicist Enrico Fermi, who casually asked, “ Where is everybody?” The paradox is that we inhabit a universe that is too large to even comprehend, consisting of all the building blocks that make up life as we know it. In contradiction to these facts, after decades of searching for extraterrestrial life, I also ask, “Where is everybody?”
This isn’t to say that one day, we may find life, perhaps even similar to the life we see on Earth, on one of the distant planets we are currently studying, but so far, it looks like it might just be us.
That said, I’ve always thought that the number one fear of human beings isn’t death; in fact, it is being alone.
The fear we experience when facing death often stems from the thought of entering the unknown — alone. We leave behind everything familiar: our loved ones, belongings, and life that we call our own. We may even lose who we are, often called our soul.
Most religions include an explanation of death and have different beliefs about what happens to our bodies and souls, often describing an afterlife to help address the predetermined fate we all face.
In the afterlife, we are often reunited with the people we have lost during our lifetimes, ensuring that we are not alone as we wait for those we have left behind to enter this new dimension.
For reference on that particular subject, I thought Ernest Becker’s book The Denial of Death was a fascinating read. It explores the problem he calls the “vital lie,” which is “man’s refusal to acknowledge his own mortality.”
Being alone has proven to be a significant challenge for human beings, with many mental illnesses being associated with loneliness, including the common ailments of modern society, such as depression and anxiety.
This is paradoxical because more people reside in crowded cities and have more opportunities to interact with others. Nevertheless, loneliness seems to be on the rise and may be linked to mental illness.
I suggest that we could only feel alone if we feel separated from nature or all animated things in our reality, including other human beings and all things that we feel a connection to outside of ourselves, including animals and plants.
For many, including myself, a connection to a power greater than myself, therefore outside of myself — but including myself, is the only antidote for loneliness and the corresponding fear of death.
What hinders our connection with others is our ego, the part of our psyche that, out of necessity to function within nature, requires it to see itself as a separate entity, as we need to care for ourselves and secure our survival.
This is the purpose of the ego function; however, we understand that it can over-function, and I propose that this over-function may lead to persistent loneliness.
The only solution to such a dilemma would be to take every action to minimize the ego and its grip on our perception of reality.
The ego serves to differentiate us and make us individuals, so the less we feel independent from nature and all the dynamic things within it, the less control the ego will have over our delusion of being alone.
When walking in raw nature, surrounded by trees and plant life, and if I’m lucky, the occasional squirrel scurrying about, I don’t feel alone. Even though no other human beings are in sight, I feel grounded and am part of this vibrant reality, which is colourful and musical as the birds sing in the trees. I experience a sense of oneness, a feeling of belonging.
My ego is temporarily suppressed in this state because so many magical living things surround me. I can’t help but feel wonderment and step outside of myself, at least for a few minutes.
Then, as I re-enter the busy and perplexing world of human interactions, I can also step outside myself by practicing gratitude. This helps me express love more freely and be willing to do the good for others without becoming overly identified with myself.
Meditation involves staying still, both body and mind, regulating your nervous system, balancing your brain hemispheres, and observing your thoughts. This process allows you to transcend ordinary thinking and gain a different perspective on life.
These are all things that make me feel less alone.
So, if it is true that we are special, nothing short of a million miracles, as improbable as many cosmologists and scientists believe this could be, that we are alone on this pale blue dot we call Earth — that in itself should make you sit still and quiet for a moment, filling you with a deep sense of gratitude.
However, you need to be less self-absorbed and more grateful for what is above and all around you.
All of this makes it much easier not to feel alone; for me, it does not negate the fear of death. However, it can give me much more meaning and purpose while I live out the miracle of being here in the first place, needing less, learning more, and providing more — because I know I’m not alone.
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