<p class=”p1″>I have this fantastical idea in my mind that I want to pursue writing. My mind is a rather rigid place though and knows ultimately nothing in scope of the universe. It is a disheveled place between my ears and behind my eyes. For I have too many thoughts to gather them all into one place where pen and paper meet. I oblige only to write truth, although I sense the ability to know truth and I grasp for it like grasping at the wind, feeling its presence as it seeps through my fingers and moves on to sway the next seeker. I am left with knowing only myself, and as time curtails, it seems that I know myself less and less. What is truth? What is reality? How did we get here? Why are we here? What is God? Descartes says in his Meditations On First Philosophy that “the word God means, that which nothing greater can be conceived.” Because we cannot conceive the answers to questions like those asked previously, God is the answer. Questions like these cannot escape my mind and drive me into the deep existential abyss where nothing is known but the experiences sparsely recorded. This is a lonely place to be when you would rather be alone with your thoughts than talking about the things your societal peers gabble about. Ever hearing but never learning, ever seeing but never knowing, concerned only with status in a fleeting materialized structure in which they are enslaved with a barcode in their right hand. With a false sense of security, continuing in a dreamlike state, never to realize their true sense of self. I am Betwixt myself for I cannot claim to know myself, for am I nothing more than a construct of the ego held in fashion of mine own experience. Belief holds me fixed to the earth, grounded in certain factions that I cannot escape in fear of the damnable. A faith in the restraints deemed plausible by leaders of the wondering sheep. Perhaps they mean well and their dictates are merely in place so that society may function like a well oiled glove. Fitted and formed to grasp onto the hand of a creator so he may wear us as an ornament and use us as a tool to fix the chaos brought into order. Madhyamaka, the Buddhist philosophical doctrine of emptiness embraces metaphysical nihilism. Perhaps everything is meaningless, yet this is just another way to answer the questions unknown when the nature of reality seems to transcend the intellectual capacities of dust. Like the band Kansas said, all we are is dust in the wind, or if you prefer Pink Floyd, just another brick in the wall. Existing as dust? Conceivably there are alternative notions of life that surpass commonly accepted explanations, as this life is a jaunt to ascertain existence. As Heidegger states in Being And Time, “In the existential- temporal interpretation of being in the world, three things will be considered: (a) the temporality of circumspective concern; (b) the temporal meaning of the way in which circumspective concern becomes modified into theoretical knowledge of what is present at hand within the world; (c) the temporal problem of transcendence in the world. As the mystical experience is a common occurrence where people claim to transcend and come to a greater understanding of ultimate reality. In his book The Varieties of Religious Experience , William James says “opposing the mystical experience is rationalism, which insists that all beliefs ought ultimately find for themselves articulate grounds. Such grounds for rationalism must consist of four things (1) definitely statable abstract principles; (2) definite facts of sensation; (3) definite hypothesis based on such facts; and (4) definite inferences logically drawn. Vague impressions of something indefinable have no place in the rationalistic system, which on its positive side is surely a splendid intellectual tendency, for not only are all our philosophies fruits of it, but physical science (among other things) is its result. Can the spirit be rationalized? What are your thoughts on existence?
I think we get chased in our minds by a spiritual or God reality. And we feel that urge to find the truth, grappling with our circumstances no matter how strange or painful they may be. We come to know that expectations are resentments waiting to happen in a world where prayers are unreliable to assert our control over the chaos that chains us.
The spirit can not be rationalized. You assert as much by the nature of your post. Poetic at times, more so than prose. You/we/everyone flees rationality in subtle ways, yet superficially try to survive in a world where we must realize what you did. “Because we cannot conceive the answers to questions like those asked previously, God is the answer. […] This is a lonely place to be when you would rather be alone with your thoughts than talking about the things your societal peers gabble about.”
I’m sorry you feel lonely, and I want you to know that you are not alone. I feel lonely too. You are a beautiful creature. Your writing is beautiful. God is not to be feared. What shall we do here except love one another?