Strange working in the field, xenoarchaeology. A discipline that does not exist. Still, having a solid background in existential philosophy I do realize my incredibly fortuitous stroke of luck in going down the path, of having the life problem of showing the existence of alien ruins on Mars to people who do not, and are determined, to not believe in them.
I have to chose to believe in my own existence. And like to believe in the existence of the ruins. With any luck nothing will come of it.
“Almost all our discoveries are due to our violences, to the exacerbation of our instability. Even God, insofar as He interests us—it is not in our innermost selves that we discern God, but at the extreme limits of our fever, at the very point where, our rage confronting His, a shock results, an encounter as ruinous for Him as for us. Blasted by the curse attached to acts, the man of violence forces his nature, rises above himself only to relapse, an aggressor, followed by his enterprises, which come to punish him for having instigated them. Every work turns against its author: the poem will crush the poet, the system the philosopher, the event the man of action. Destruction awaits anyone who, answering to his vocation and fulfilling it, exerts himself within history; only the man who sacrifices every gift and talent escapes: released from his humanity, he may lodge himself in Being.” The Temptation to Exist by E. M. Cioran (1968)
Car into space. Rash, retribution will be swift.