Sometimes you look at this world and you’re like, yea, life is cool. And sometimes you look at this world and you’re like, what kind of hell is this?
Growing up, I was philosophically hard on my parents. Why am I here? What am I doing here? What is here? I was always this child that would relentlessly ask questions. I wanted to know. There was this burning curiosity alive in me. It wasn’t enough to just go to church and swallow everything I was told, I wanted to know. How did the world come about? Well, that’s not your question to ask, they said. In fact, God abhors questions.
And now I’m thinking, the white man God or the universe God?
The thing about me is I don’t play politics. We die either way, so why do I have to please you? I’m going to speak the truth in black and white. Yea, slavery happened. Yea, it’s messed up. Yea, humans kinda have no clue.
For me, mostly, it’s all a dream. Trying to understand reality is progressively futile. Uncountable atoms work all day, not for you to try to understand them, but for you to imagine, to create.
Think about it, why atoms? Why electrons moving about a thing called nucleus? Why are there so many of them? Why all the clockwork? For us to dwell all our infinitesimal lifetimes figuring it out? All these existential industry for us to keep asking why it’s happening?
It’s intricately futile!
The storyteller would say, I know reality (existence) is complex, complex enough to make me, so why don’t I seek to connect the dots, creat my own reality?
Well, what will the philosopher say? What will you say?