This world is an illusion. Meaning is subjective.
Imagination is everything. The ability to create and justify a reality that has yet to exist is salvation.
I am becoming a skeptic, in the philosophical sense. Certainty has been suspended.
I am a heap of matter. Matter programmed to process stimulating environmental energy. Within my brain resides the neural networks that comprise my mind and consciousness. I am a product of an environment.
My growing skepticism is a result of a world competing to imbue its beliefs and convictions into individuals. It is a virus that pervades everything we do. I am a virus. We staunchly defend the fabricated reality we’ve constructed for ourselves. The thought of our experiences deceiving us is beyond most. We are certain. We digest stimulation, reference past experiences, and strive to make sense of it. The older we grow the more ingrained we become.
Change our mind? Adopt a new philosophical gestalt? Feel differently towards this or that? How do we begin to rationalize our past? Was is for nought? We swear by these seemingly authentic experiences. Every seven years, every cell in our body will die and will successfully grow anew. We are not who we were seven years ago. Our mind is not the mind we were born and grew with. Our memories are not the experiences we judge by.
We are constantly being impressed with codes of thought. They pass by our conscious and accept them unnoticed… until we wake and find ourselves somewhere we don’t want to be and someone we’re not. But who are you?
Apathy allows one to become less and less impressionable. Action allows one to make sense of more stimulation.
Those who sit back and watch life accept the few experiences they’ve encountered and never seek to change their perceptions and biases. They are accustomed to rote behaviors and mindless routine.
Those who take charge and assume a role to make sense of as many experiences as possible imbue themselves with a stronger sense of self and maintain a broader sense of possibilities.
Everything goes back to what you want. Its comforting to believe that these desires are our own. The reality is we are products. Our genetics have afforded us with unique processes, our environment unique stimulation. How can we fathom additional colors to the rainbow? We cannot escape our environment. We can only instill it with our interpretive meaning. We think our delusion is unique, but it is a delusion nonetheless.