The Universe lives. It feels every thing from the blackest of dark matter to the smallest speck of mold. Life is life. It changes and stretches and morphs dependent only on the stimulus around. The range is thin but the range of living things to fit with the billions of niches can run into the infinite. Creatures huge and small. Enormous and microscopic. Sentient and not. Aware of their soul and just fodder for a conception equation. Offspring. Children. Parental responsibility. The very nature of existence is male female. Fitting and holding. The ying sheltering the yang. The man and woman.
Nothing is ever wasted. Garbage thrown out is fuel in somewhere else. The universe is patient. Waiting. The motions that set it off a mystery. The universe is a Rube Goldberg machine of nonsensical accidents. A pinball machine with no prongs to hit the ball or have any control.
Time is an infinite loop. One end is another beginning. An end doesn’t even have to be noticed for trillions of years. But the clump of ice strewn out from one explosion will become involved with something eventually. Time is on the side of happenstance.