First Of the Last? Time Reversal Symmetry?
Recently ive discovered a new found conviction in the idea that inconsistency, confusion, suffering, and dejection serve me far greater than the average citizen of this society.. Ive been asking myself why i spend so many hours asking myself questions without answers, perfectly aware that they're unanswerable. Is it crazy to think that these questions are the only real questions there are? Why?
I need to find meaning in everything because otherwise i all i can see is a vast world void of anything true, real, or meaningful. The kind of meaning im searching for is the kind that is so infinitely small, perhaps smaller than anything on the sub-atomic level, that it would only be logical (or inherently illogical) that perhaps it exist on the largest scale imaginable -- the whole complete massive unfathomably huge universe. Aren't these scales the same? (Relatively??) Isn't it true that without pleasure there can be no pain? No laughter without any crying? Is the key to understanding life not hidden in the mysterious vacuum of death?
Lately this has been one of my biggest dilemmas. 17 Days ago it was the turn of the decade, meaning for me, at least in terms of chronology that in another ten years ill be thirty. It seems so superficial to be afraid of getting older, especially for me; the one that formerly looked forward to old age as a stage in my life where i could be free from the apathy and indolence of youth. Yet, now i find myself trembling at grandeur of my own mortality. I once read "do not wear your mortality as your best set of clothes", which to me means release your fear, live to live and not to die, since we're only here for a tiny amount of time (what is time?) anyways. But as mortal beings can we ever escape the true inevitable truth that our bodies will someday cease to exist? What the fuck really happens after that? One of my best friends once said in a sophmore english class that he believed that like all natural creatures, humans operate cheifly out of fear, always trying to survive and claim some kind of stake in their physical world. Isnt that why we go out and buy cars so we can get to our jobs so we can make money so we can buy things and own them and treat ourselves to entertainment created by media conglomerates that want to do nothing but numb and exorcise the truth from our souls that its all done in vain, that it doesnt mean a damn thing because its all just shit and no one was ever fulfilled if they just lived like that until they were around 80 years old and finally just died?
It seems unmistakeably clear that we need to be spiritual. If you deconstruct everything that you think is real, your self image and your arbitrary sense of material success theres really nothing left, except for that which is most precious: understanding of spirit, of true love, and of true pain and suffering. Life seems to do what it wants anyways. Life acts like a massive interconnected complex organism that runs off of everything and nothing all at once. Im just as close to someone on the other side of the universe as my fingers are to the keys im typing with. So it does matter when you talk shit or when you're mean to yourself or when you eat meat. It all matters because it all exists as little fragments of the collective consciousness that you and me and they all come from. Live like you're going to die someday because at least from your little perspective and interpretive ego, you will.
Finally, love art. Yesterday i read , " Poets and Artists, on their own, can do little to save the world. Without them, there is little worth saving. " Eternity is eternity gazing upon itself in a mirror, and WE are the mirror. Life reflects art and art reflects life. However, art does not follow the conventional rules and physics of our world. It is almost as boundless as the imagination, although we are limited in how we make it by our hands, our voices, our bodies. Still art represents the fluid momentum and majesty of consciousness of spirit and mind and experience. Whats more real? Life or art? But asking that question is already impossible because they are one and the same, since all art seeks truth and beauty and all life is beautiful. Is it not art when you walk through a park full of tall trees and the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds? Is it not art when someone who's pissed off pours their heart into a bucket of paint, and then splatters it on a canvas? Art is beauty and beauty is art. Without truth and beauty whats the point of it all? Why? Why??
I need to find meaning in everything because otherwise i all i can see is a vast world void of anything true, real, or meaningful. The kind of meaning im searching for is the kind that is so infinitely small, perhaps smaller than anything on the sub-atomic level, that it would only be logical (or inherently illogical) that perhaps it exist on the largest scale imaginable -- the whole complete massive unfathomably huge universe. Aren't these scales the same? (Relatively??) Isn't it true that without pleasure there can be no pain? No laughter without any crying? Is the key to understanding life not hidden in the mysterious vacuum of death?
Lately this has been one of my biggest dilemmas. 17 Days ago it was the turn of the decade, meaning for me, at least in terms of chronology that in another ten years ill be thirty. It seems so superficial to be afraid of getting older, especially for me; the one that formerly looked forward to old age as a stage in my life where i could be free from the apathy and indolence of youth. Yet, now i find myself trembling at grandeur of my own mortality. I once read "do not wear your mortality as your best set of clothes", which to me means release your fear, live to live and not to die, since we're only here for a tiny amount of time (what is time?) anyways. But as mortal beings can we ever escape the true inevitable truth that our bodies will someday cease to exist? What the fuck really happens after that? One of my best friends once said in a sophmore english class that he believed that like all natural creatures, humans operate cheifly out of fear, always trying to survive and claim some kind of stake in their physical world. Isnt that why we go out and buy cars so we can get to our jobs so we can make money so we can buy things and own them and treat ourselves to entertainment created by media conglomerates that want to do nothing but numb and exorcise the truth from our souls that its all done in vain, that it doesnt mean a damn thing because its all just shit and no one was ever fulfilled if they just lived like that until they were around 80 years old and finally just died?
It seems unmistakeably clear that we need to be spiritual. If you deconstruct everything that you think is real, your self image and your arbitrary sense of material success theres really nothing left, except for that which is most precious: understanding of spirit, of true love, and of true pain and suffering. Life seems to do what it wants anyways. Life acts like a massive interconnected complex organism that runs off of everything and nothing all at once. Im just as close to someone on the other side of the universe as my fingers are to the keys im typing with. So it does matter when you talk shit or when you're mean to yourself or when you eat meat. It all matters because it all exists as little fragments of the collective consciousness that you and me and they all come from. Live like you're going to die someday because at least from your little perspective and interpretive ego, you will.
Finally, love art. Yesterday i read , " Poets and Artists, on their own, can do little to save the world. Without them, there is little worth saving. " Eternity is eternity gazing upon itself in a mirror, and WE are the mirror. Life reflects art and art reflects life. However, art does not follow the conventional rules and physics of our world. It is almost as boundless as the imagination, although we are limited in how we make it by our hands, our voices, our bodies. Still art represents the fluid momentum and majesty of consciousness of spirit and mind and experience. Whats more real? Life or art? But asking that question is already impossible because they are one and the same, since all art seeks truth and beauty and all life is beautiful. Is it not art when you walk through a park full of tall trees and the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds? Is it not art when someone who's pissed off pours their heart into a bucket of paint, and then splatters it on a canvas? Art is beauty and beauty is art. Without truth and beauty whats the point of it all? Why? Why??