existance

10

I’ve wanted to get this down for a while.  I have an interesting view when it comes to this.

I once heard someone call their body their “meatsuit” and it got me thinking.  What is a body?  Why do we place so much importance on it?  There are so many people that place judgement on a person for their body, but never stop to consider the person inside that body.  

My view is that our body is nothing more that our vehicle.  We can see the world though the eyes, hear sounds through the ears, and express our thoughts with the vocal chords.  But really what you and your body are are two entirely different things. And you leave your body behind when you die. 

I think a person should put more effort into bettering “themselves” before their “vehicle.”

Basically, I try to live my life by looking past a persons body, or “vehicle” and trying to see the person inside.  And it has helped me relate to people, it’s helped me look past differences, and it’s helped me kind of see that while we are all special, and we are all essentially equal.

{From his point of view}

I came into the room
And sat down next to a girl.
She didn’t move
Or say anything.
She wasn’t one of those
girls you notice when you
walk down a street
But, god she was so beautiful.
She seemed so perfect and I
Can’t tell you why.
But there was one thing about her
That was different.
You couldn’t hear her.
It was like she didn’t even exist.

What is the meaning of life?
No one on this Earth knows what it is. We choose how we shape our lives (to an extent of course). If we want to become a photographer or an IT Technician for the University in the city. Or even both. If we use our time wisely we can do practically anything we want. Choose what you want to do and go out there and get it. Make your dream a reality.
—  @poetpastry
Life is hard

I miss her, I miss her, I miss her :( But I try not to think about it. Today after seeing Arrival I had mental break-down of the year… You know, in that movie there is that concept of woman seeing the future - knowing how she’s going to spend her entire life. It’s a gift, of course, but for me it would be the worst nightmare. What I love about life is how unpredictable it is… How many times it surprised me, gave me hope and all that. If I knew how I’ll end up, I would have just already resigned. I have the worst situation in my family. I got rejected by my father, now my mother rejects me, I have no strength to go to my grandparents, cause they are holding into my mother’s side and they love her more than anyone in the world. But why can’t she love how they love her? What makes her look at me with total indifference? Have I completely dissapointed her? In which way? There are some aspects of life that I would like never get to know… But you know - our existance goes in circle - on the one side - I have no hope in my family, but I got attention from the person who is the most important for me. Life was gonna experience me in that way or the other - it’s better it happened sooner than later.

Things must be accepted as they are. What is more, to say that we invent values means neither more nor less than this: life has no meaning a priori. Life itself is nothing until it is lived, it is we who give it meaning, and value is nothing more than the meaning we give it.
—  Jean Paul Sartre

“I’d like to do a song or a piece of music that’s just a pure expression of joy.
Pure, like a celebration of existence.
You know, like the coming of spring or the sun rising.. Something like that.
Just pure unbounded joy.
I don’t think we’ve really done that yet.”

- Jim Morrison

This Story Changed My Life

I am the Silent Poet, and this short story changed my life. It goes as follows:

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.

- The Egg, Written by Andy Weir