The greatest gift that has been bestowed upon humanity is its inability to truly comprehend its own being.
For years I have pondered upon the question that many of us have considered in our life. What is the purpose behind this struggle? Is this our ultimate reality, and if so what awaits us next? Is it eternal nothingness? Do we simply go from full of vibrancy, and from a conscience of self-being to simply not existing? If we do, can we feel a comfortable numbness in the abyss where we don’t exist, just as we feel a constant agitation as we dwell on this plane. Or is it simply that we’re not anymore. Just not feeling, the idea attracts and horrifies me at the same time.
The truth is we cannot began to realize the deliberation of an Almighty being. We being finite, everything we do, all thoughts that cross our awareness, our whole perception of the seen universe is knit around the idea of the finite. Our instincts are driven towards survival, and on the highest plane of human mindfulness we began to toy with the idea of self-actuality. Spirituality. We are never truly content until we find a drop of mysticism with-in us, the divine spark within our mortal existence. Yet, we can’t come close to know what it would feel to have this tiniest of sparks within us consume our entity, so we can transcend to a different level of reality.
Our world shapes own its own, and there is little we can do to alter it. Yet, in the realm of the metaphysical the elements bend like thoughts of an imaginative mind. “Be and it is.”
Our mortality never allows us to reach this stage. We are bound by the very real limitations of our bodies, so we can never understand how infinite works. When the need for food, safety and shelter are not a need or even the concept of luxury doesn’t exist anymore. When we are not bound by laws that govern space and time. When the spiral of time is broken, and that we travel through it as we travel through space. And when space stops having a concrete shape and swirls and twirls on itself. How do you make sense of a reality like that?
Then there are feelings. We are what we feel. It’s not that the physical world in unaffected by the way we feel. In a way they control everything around us. So much cruelty and inhumanity is done based on hate, even more so in name of love. We hunt those different to us, becoming desensitized monsters who fail to realize that we are all the same.
7 billion right now. Each one same at the very core of it. Each so convinced that they are so different, an individual, an entity on its own. That the whole universe bends and shapes around us. Each fully convinced that everything in the grand scheme of things is about them. Fate, karma, destiny, such idol fantasies of the vanity of humanity.
An animal on the very basic level with the tiniest drop of something more. Something we can’t truly understand, only worship, and stay in awe of.
Are we too self-aware? Does any other animal question its purpose on this world? Does it dream of life after death? Why are we all so, so sure that we each are somebody? And can you began to realize with seven billion of somebodies on this planet, each becomes equally irrelevant as they become relevant.
For humans are meant to break. Death will always triumph over life. The circle of life. Humanity, for all its vanity accepts that. The limited time it has, it wants to spend doing something meaningful. To touch other lives. No matter what we do, it fades, for time is cruel. It reduces mighty fortresses into ruins and proud king into stinking dead bodies.
If one day you began to question the futility of it, and you look up in the sky and ask, “What is the meaning of all this?” and you hope against hope that there is some higher power listening that would at least give some sense to this struggle and you hope all this is not just a farce.
That perhaps when you’ll look back on this life after death, it will play out like a dream, a distant memory across the timeline.
And if this reality is essentially meant to be a dream for your soul as it transcends from your body. Does that mean, our dreams are a reality at some parallel plane of consciousness? That each time I vanquished a dragon in my dreams, it was as real as this life is. That each time I met you in my dreams, and each time I said to you things I could never say in this reality, that they had some meaning. That each times our lips met in my dreams it had some significance.
These questions drive me mad to no end. The spark of divinity in me too small to fully understand all of it. What little I can hope is to see you every day, and as my soul leaves my body, to have your beautiful image implanted in my eyes. To be the last thing I remember as I die. To be the only thing that circles around my diminishing sense of self as my body rots and my spirit lingers on trying to find the light. Only then would I say that my life had some gist of meaning. For what are we without love.