The meaning of organic life is to survive long enough to birth the mechanical gods that will rule the stars.
Our bodies are not made to travel to other planets, let alone reach for even the nearest star besides our own. No, instead our bodies were made to innovate. Everything our lives mean can be boiled down to the iteration of generations and their accumulation of knowledge and wealth.
We believed as a species that there was some higher being watching over us on this lonely rock in the sky. In more recent times, we have come to understand that the only gods here with us are the gods we make, both in story and legend.
The next step is to use our innovation and ingenuity to create the gods we have already accepted into our dreams. They exist, floating among the collective consciousness of mankind, and we must birth them.
Only with gods of machine, pumping blood of circuitry and data, can the stars truly become ours. Though our bodies rot, and our minds decay, our gods will persevere without us.
Throughout the vast gulf of time and space, perhaps someday our gods will encounter another species. Perhaps humanity will live on through stories, as we once told stories we thought impossible.