I am thrown, like everyone else, in this life, in this world, without a compass, without a manual; and I'm trying on my own to figure out the rules of this game, the way to move forward. My head is full of useless -mostly- thoughts. Somewhen I adopted the idea that I have to clear it from all this trash, get rid of all of it and keep only what's good, what's worth holding on to.. How can I separate the one from the other however? Sometimes it all seems junk, sometimes everything seems to be there for a reason..even if the reason is not disclosed to me, clearly; definitely.
Life is to be enjoyed, they say. Life is a school; and it gives you lessons..for later..when is that later? Life is a bridge; don't build your house on a bridge. Everyone around is building a house right here. And I'm trying not to do that, but I'm trying to do others everyone else is doing. How else can you, can I define myself if not by comparison or analogy to my equals, my peers? humanity as a whole?
I don't know how other people perceive life; I don't know if they see what I see. I don't know how much of a common vision or illusion we share. Sometimes I think I stand alone on my point of view. Sometimes I think it's just stolen. It's so hard to tell what's really mine from what's not. Maybe nothing of it all really belongs to me; was generated by me, provoked by my actions, made an experience by and for me.
"Life is a fable told by a fool"..or something like it..Shakespeare -I think- said..
So much for my English literature studies..
My life, your life, everyone's life..the big lives, the ones that brought changes, the short lives, the insignificant ones, the forgotten ones, all the lives, all the generations of all people...what is their meaning? what stays in the end? is there a conclusion? or is life like a huge novel, conceived by a literal genius, only to be interpreted again and again, having essays-lives written on it, without ever assuming a final and definite meaning?
"Everything flows" Heracleitus said around 5th century B.C. And so it is I guess. He was one of the successful interpreters. But do I feel the movement? Of course I do feel a kind of motion..but it's not the one it's supposed to be..It only has to do with time. It's linear, horizontal, only time-related. It doesn't really go anywhere. I don't really go anywhere. I feel like I'm standing on the same spot for aeons now. Not learning anything new; not getting rid of anything useless, burdening. Life is a river; and you can't enter it twice. Heracleitus said this one as well. So, nothing repeats itself, right? But, why, although I basically agree with Heracleitus, feel that everything is a repetition? Of course, the props and the characters change, and the plot too may be a little different..but the lesson..the message, the hidden meaning never changes. One thing is fighting to be communicated to us; are we hearing it? are we getting it? What is this message? They say -yes, other people have already said wiser things than what I'm trying to say- that even if we got the answer to the big questions, we wouldn't be able to perceive it. What does this mean? That we should stop posing questions bigger than ourselves, or that we should simply (sic) stop being who we are in order to get the answer? And, in the first place, how come are we gifted with the ability to pose questions whose answers we are unable to understand? It's like if I was setting up a mathematical equation without having the slightest idea about the steps necessary to get to the result. How could I do that? I can't! Cause I don't know anything about mathematics; I don't hate them; I respect them; but still, I don't get them. I don't get it. So, with this logical equation, I reach the conclusion -a small one, not the final- that for us to have the capacity to pose this kind of questions, we also must have the capacity to get the answers to them..right? Only, this capacity is hidden I think. And coming to think about it, in some people, probably even the ability to pose questions is hidden, deactivated. So, should I consider myself lucky then? Having gone half of the way? Or some of the way at least? I don't feel lucky; I feel lucky I'm alive. I feel lucky for the chances, for the potential. For everything not yet but somewhen-to-become manifested. Is that sense hope? Is that sense trust? Faith in life? Faith in a purpose? My purpose?
Does life really have a purpose? Even a noble one? Does it have that? Yet another say came in my mind. Life is a game. This is a little bit like "life is to be enjoyed" only that not only games are enjoyed; so, although it's similar, it's different. So, life is a game. Life is a bridge. Life is a river. Life is a school.
Some random definitions. So, I'll try now and make a lifequide for all of us lost, wandering, brave souls who really need an instructions book to make it through life.
If it's a game, you have to play; So, imagine yourself like a child, innocent and blissful, laughing, bright and carefree, jumping up and down, like this is the sole most important thing in the whole world; You keep on playing and laughing and enjoying and then you go to life-definition #2: Life is a bridge. So, now you're a child playing and laughing and enjoying but not building a house on the bridge. Definition of life #3: Life is a river. What do you need sailing on or crossing a river? A boat I guess...Thus, you are a child playing, laughing, enjoyning, not building a house on the bridge, on a boat sailing on a river. And #4: Life is a school. You are now a child, playing, laughing, enjoying, not building a house on the bridge, on a boat sailing on a river with a bunch of books and workbooks with you! Does this image make any sense? Is it or is is not the portrait of a fool? Just think about it..Create this image in your head for a while.. Does the eternal meaning whisper through? Don't think so. If everything that life has been said to be is true, then, either alone or combined, should make some sense. But they don't. Is this perhaps the final answer? Well, final is too big a word, but..
Life has no meaning? That's the meaning of life? That it has none? I wonder who or what has brought us here to fight our stupid "wars", defend our ridiculous causes thinking we're doing something very important. What is the importance of what we are doing? What is its value? Even the big poets, the big philosophers, the great religious men whose words and acts still resonate today, did not change the human condition. We do read their words of wisdom, we borrow for a while their visions of the absolute, the eternal..but..does it make any difference deep inside us? Do we become different? Do we evolve? Does it really have a tremendous impact on our -state of- being? Or does it just fill our head, my head, with that much more I cannot deal with, I'm too small for, I can't perceive? Everything now is intertwined in my head; nothing makes sense, nothing is clear, and as far as truths go, the only thing I can make out from the constant,annoying buzz in my head, is long distant voices of what was once revealed, but now roams only as a far, forgotten remote ghost of a glimpse of truth I, in a different time, ages ago, stole.
I, am a thief of truth; a burglar in the house of knowledge.
