Sunday, September 17, 2006

I Think Therefore I am But So What....

Tired of the sound of my own voice, and very little to say. What do you say when all is nothing and nothing is all there is? But I feel guilty, as though it is 'required' that I mark my existence in some way. No one else cares, so shouldn't I? Most of the time, I feel there is no reason to bother. We all go through life as though our existence matters and really it does not. We are like ants on a giant ant farm; working, working as though our efforts have meaning. We have deluded ourselves into thinking they do and we go on day after day as though we will somehow escape this thing called life by getting out alive. Of course we won't. We all die in the end. In the meantime, we ignore the signs of approaching decay that shred the folds of our lives and leave us the tatters. Even in death, we erect a final stone monument to mark our existence while we rot and decay beneath the earth. So what then is the point? Those we leave behind, those we have 'touched' do the requisite grieving and then suck it in, saying , "Life goes on." We become infinitessimal tufts of memory, and in death, the joker and the king are at last equal mounds of dust. It made me profoundly sad to walk the rooms of Boston's Museum of Fine Art. The grandest civilizations the world has ever seen were reduced to inglorious porticos behind glass to be gaped at. At the time, I thought how each thought themselves the center of the universe during their time. Their world, like ours centered around the self, their egos. They like us, believed their time would go on forever; 'world without end.' (yeah) I summed up this process of existence long ago and decided it is a cruel joke. Though I believe in God, (It is the only grounding force in my life and to not believe would I fear irreparably unhinge me. Someone after all has to be responsible for this madness.) I don't quite agree with God's definition of benevolence or love for that matter. There is too much suffering and injustice and there is no justification or answer that I find tolerable. If I ever make it behind the veil, I will ask for clarification. It is of deep importance to me to know why love and life are so intertwined with suffering and inevitable death.

To be sad or depressed would mean that I thought any of this matters. I do not. I am not. I simply exist. I am numb; as ghosts are transparent and feel nothing, existing outside and separate. I suppose I am a ghost.