Existential Insomniac
Christians believe we are God’s servants whose lives are destined to adore and please him; some radical Ancient Astronaut Theorists believe that we are ETs’ slaves who did the physical work of building the Egyptian and Mayan pyramids, or that were actually genetically created by aliens to serve as their own [literal] gold-diggers; mainstream scientists believe we evolved from a monkey. I sometimes believe we are just another species like the dinosaurs that more than likely will not survive a continuous series of catastrophic phenomena; sometimes I think reality is nothing but a dream, perhaps some else's dream from which he cannot wake up from; other times I happen to imagine we are some higher power entity’s daughter’s human Barbie and Ken toys (my apologies to Borges, chess is overrated).
Whoever created us and whatever our purpose on Earth is, I think I know we will never truly know. I think I am certain that everything is relative, only because we are unaware of Absolute Truth. We live to discover it, and most of the time, I think it is pathetic. Such hope for fantasy and denial to fail to recognize that we probably will never know. We probably could not handle such revelation.
So what is left for us to do? We are creative creatures for we create our own purpose in life. That is what I have done; however my intentions differ. I live for no one or nothing, not even myself; I live for the sake of living. I have to. Otherwise existential angst would suffocate the life out of me.
So I do a lot of pretending and have a long list of the things I “want” to do before I die and surround myself with the people who love me or at lease see some good in me. I tell myself I love and need them. I have to. Otherwise I would die existentially depressed.
This is what sometimes, even now, keeps me up at night.
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