The Dance

Septimus: When we have found all the mysteries and lost all the meaning, we will be alone, on an empty shore.
Thomasina: Then we will dance.

The other thing about time is that even if one spends it appropriately, there will always be an end to it. At the end of our lives, Death waits patiently to hang our coats and welcome us to the ballroom. Whether it is the death of the intellect, as Septimus alludes to above, or the death of the body, there is but one thing left at the end: the dance. And really, what the hell else are you going to do? After one knows all the answers, after one dies, there's no point to it anymore, is there? This whole human condition business becomes junk floating under the bridge, the flotsam of some strange dream. All that remains is the dance. The cosmic dance. The one in which all the particles of the universe vibrate together, colliding and spinning off each other until there are no more collisions or spinnings. Until there is unity, or as we call it, heat death.

Our science can't say what lies beyond heat death. Religions make a good go at it, but it's really just a guess. What we do know is that, in the mean time, the universe dances. One day it will dance itself to sleep, but should that depress you? I don't think so. As Brook understands: dance for the sake of dancing. It's all we know how to do, anyway.