Bottom line

I came to believe that life has no meaning without the act of creation. 

The fact that us, these beings that trek this planet are created by an inteligent Being.

It is rather depressing to see ourselves the product of a successful alignment of cosmic events; the "succes" of becoming, after all, recyclable matter.

To be content with such reality is beyond reason. 

The idea of creation is too complex to be an invention to fight existential depression. 

There is a new dimension of meaning added when the inteligent Being commits an act of sacrificial love for the created beings.

This love seems illogical and strange in its nature, but it's probably what makes it stand out.

It transcends what we call religion. 

And so, when our short time here is imbued with acts of creation and sacrificial love, whatever small they may be, life becomes utterly meaningful and full of purpose.

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