2011-12-25 - 6:20 p.m.
Alone on Christmas, one gets to thinking. Alone for the first time in a long time. Not unpleasant, but the monotony of loneliness is deafening. A small gleaning of the herebefore and hereafter. All while the great but infinitesimal symphony takes place and we are given our vessels to enjoy it.
But who are "we"? Why must we "enjoy"? Why is it not "endure"? Are we actually "enduring" because we don't know the true meaning of "enjoy"? What don't we know?
Alcohol. Temple. Love. Whether our palliative is physical, spiritual, or psychological, each of us inevitably inject ourselves with something to dampen the cacophony of the universe in our minds, to continue to exist, to be, and to listen to the rest of our symphonies. Without our tranquilizers, our minds are not developed or controlled enough to withstand the depths of the truth about existence. It is not a mystical thing. It is terrifyingly empty.
I'm always returning to my understanding that as a being made of matter and space, I encompass and exert upon this universe what force I can and it upon me. That there are others around me that, consciously or unconsciously, are doing the same thing, is reassuring. What is mystifying, is the purpose of this self-consciuosness that the universe has created for itself, through me...through us.
It is reassuring to know that others, those better than me, can be actively trying to figure out this mystery and to help the universe figure out what it wants. The problem, I have found, is that, to tap into that stream of thought, the edges of the places you go are cold and empty and you lose yourself. It is the depths of eternal loneliness, and that is when the instinct for self-preservation kicks in and you run back to the comforts of your palliative, whatever that may be. Thus we are protected, but also recruited to keep at this attempt, this experiment, this indoctrination to help that which is beyond our dimension to understand itself. And in the scope of the history of existence, though our symphony may be brief, someone may stumble upon something, whether it be through self sacrifice or through permanent disfigurement. And there will be no thanks given. But maybe it will be the prelude to our evolution to the next step, whatever that may be. And when all of our eyes are finally shut, our consciousness all extinguished, will we have served our purpose effectually? Will there be another Creation to try again? Is our purpose, as a tool of God, to help God eliminate Itself?
Whether all of this seems like some banter from some emo kid or drugged out psycho, it does not matter. What does matter is that the premise of it stands solid:
The universe obviously exists. Each of us exist. We are conscious of ourselves and of the universe. Thus, through us, the universe is self-aware. Why? To what end?
Remember, after reading this and going back to work, or Monday Night Football, or your partner and children, or to have a smoke, you are retreating to your self-preservation sanctum. And you will dismiss this rubbish as a delusion of some guy with too much time on his hands. Some lonely guy with too much time on his hands on Christmas night.
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