Mind walk.

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.

Meaningless Existence

Do the laws of the universe create life? Do the forces that act on all matter inevitably lead to reactions causing organization that begets more organization? And begets organization to the point where the molecules begin to question themselves and their intent? Organized states of matter drawing from the universe around them that produce something out of nothing? Ideas? Truth? Philosophical concepts and laws to live and govern by? I would rather say we are gods. If we are not, we are made in God likeness. A consciousness exists within us that is more than the resulting whole we’re composed of. If we were solely matter, we would be no more relevant in the scheme of time than dust in the wind. Our experiences would be lies. Lies would be lies. There would be no right or wrong. The evolutionary reaction would persist until it fizzles out. All of these thoughts, however personal we make them, attached with sentimental penchants to make it worth understanding, are nothing. Do not convince yourself they are more than the reality you accept them to be. You swallow lies if you think you are worth more than the ashes that construct and guide these inclinations. If there is no real meaning to life, and everything is meaningless- aside from the lie you’re convinced it to be- than knowing this is meaningless. Getting to the bottom of anything, the truth about something, knowing everything- is pointless. You will not be any better off.

I suppose people, once they’re convinced that there is no origin, no God or purpose or real plan, they can begin to make life whatever they want it to be. They are masters of their fate. The opportunity chance has given them allows them to be a god for a brief moment in time. They infuse their decisions with the illusion of meaning, deciding and believing in a fabricated existence. They declare their own laws and morals and philosophies to be paramount to anyone around them. Even if they’re tolerant, they’ve arrived at the conclusion that everyone can believe whatever they want because there is no meaning, and they are right because they believe it to be so. This is called existentialism. This is the current state mankind has found for itself. Because there is no truth, and all is relative, everything is debatable. True meaning is vapid.

Is there a God? If he is, why are we separated from him? If all that is can be measured and calculated before our eyes, where is this God? What is love? What is faith? What is honesty? What is truth? What is compassion? What is empathy? What is kindness? What is a will? Are they mere reactions? behaviors? patterns? How can these things be measured? Is right and wrong measurable by a definite scale? If not, why do be place faith in such things as hope?

If God is real, why would he allow people to suffer? Is it his will we suffer or, like a father’s love for his child, does his heart break to see us struggle? Does he pain and weep when he sees us scrape by in life, accepting pathetic answers for help instead of looking to him? Does he want to know us? Does he even care? Did he make us for the insignificant novelty of it all? Little beings hurting, hurting others, suffering to survive, questioning life and existing, crawling through life on their hands and knees to spread themselves over as much material or immaterial gains as possible, only to find themselves on their deathbed with the cold reality that it was all for nothing. The suffering, the joy, the relationships, were for nothing, and they slip into oblivion. Or do they find themselves in other place, confronted with answers to the questions? Are they blinded by the radiating perfection of a just God who they’ve reserved as an afterthought? Does this God accept them to a place they never wished to seek? Does a door open to those who don’t knock? Is there a place where a relationship with a perfect God exists? A God who you never desired to look for or know? Where would a perfect justice place the blame? On God or us?