Blink. Life. Blink.

...well I guess I could write.
Something we seem to never have time for anymore.
Never have unction for anymore.
Never have passion for anymore.
But those are all lies.

So here we are, dear reader, dear writer.
Been a while hasn’t it?
What shall we talk about it?
The future? The past? The ever expanding present?

I’m not sure.

There are times in life, moments really, when you realize how quickly it is passing.

Those are usually unfun moments...
Because otherwise, time would be “flying” wouldn’t it?

So what does that mean?

“Life is passing.”

Is life precious because of its fleeting nature?
Is life precious because of its beauty?
Because of its pain?
Because life is an indivisible mix of both beauty and pain?

What’s the point?
What are we really working so hard for here?
Do you really think it’s to secure your place in the afterlife?
That all your loves and secrets will be protected and preserved once your heart stops and the brain’s electrical signature dwindles to nothing?

In the face of the great unknown, the great unknowing... life looks pretty bleak doesn’t it?

So what keeps us going?
What keeps us questing and questioning?

Is it merely millions of years of instinct... that provides a false sense of providence, of a conjured spiritual identity... so that we can be buoyed by baseless belief in an existence larger than the confines of our flesh?

Whoa, serious questions there.

And no answer to them can be silly.

The truth, as truth in a baby-fed bubble like the brain can be is: the answer doesn’t matter.

Who answers, probably matters the most.

Consciousness is a slippery fish.
A shape, a shadow that yet reflects light, beneath the mental water, refracted and flickering.

Are we the fish?
Are we the lake?
Are we the observer at the water’s edge?
A pretty good set up for Ego, Id, and SuperEgo there.

We are the world awake.
The universe, its material and energetic parts, awake.

I don’t want to Dis the rocks here, but how much does a rock think about?
Just what mental burdens does it have to deal with?

We are but rocks (material) energized (electricity converted from TacoBell).
Organic machines resting on mineral stilts run by straps of connective contracting tissue.
And then there’s the ‘Us’, the ‘Me’, aka consciousness.

Awake.

Awake that it’s awake.
The alarm clock constantly going off... you’re awake, I’m me! you’re awake, I’m me! you’re awake, I’m me!

It’s funny.
Or rather, we think everything is funny.
We deal with the complex, conflicting observations of the universe around us with the tool of irony.
Something is, and not is.
A paradox of meaning... ergo, the HAHA!

So what’s the point?
What’s the answer?
What is salvation and the consequence of ambient faith??

Letting the riddle continue;
Flying diligently by the seat of one’s pants
Riding the joke of the universe to its invisible natural conclusion;

11:11 AM

It’s like when you throw a baseball.

Your mind and body calculate millions of times as you grip it, crank your arm, spot your target.
But once you let it go
That’s the sweet spot of life.
Giving up contact, for a bit
Being the ball, the ball’s influence, seeing the impact
Releasing your actions from yourself
Dissociating your choices from your existence for sanity’s sake
Not taking yourself too seriously!

We’re all responsible for ourselves, whether we know it or not.
Responsible for how the ball is thrown
But to have thrown it.. and observe it flying separate from you,
is relief.

And this repeats non-identically with every tick of the clock, with every cc of blood we pump through us.

The “truth” is the universe/life/existence is but information,
An utterly complex system of information
Interacting... as you the writing reader, and I writer reading are interacting.

And we can’t hold it all
Can’t be responsible for all of it
It’s rather difficult to dicuss
Aka, philosophy

Life is goofy.
It’s a hilarious mix of order and chaos.
The mix tickles the brain like soda pop tickling your nose.
There, yet not there.
When definitions lack all definition...
All that’s left is, Wonder.


And so this essay has succeeded.
I have answered no important questions, directed no dire actions, implored no lofty considerations.
And so have answered a questioning sense, directed a focused motionlessness, implored the parts to see the whole seeing the parts.

Blink. Life. Blink.