There is a way of imagining causality—one of many, but one, in particular, that I see now—in which the universe is a perpetual sine wave, constantly made and unmade, perfectly or imperfectly replicating the same steps over and over again. In that picture, we exist now, and we die, and then in an almost incomprehensibly long time we exist again just as we are. Who is to say that the time when we are not is more significant than the time when we are? Who is to say that it exists at all if we cannot see it? Who is to say that the frequency of our making and unmaking is not radically more compressed, and that the universe does not shatter and remake itself second by second, and us none the wiser?