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It is the eternal question asked by man: "What is the meaning of life?" No, not "What is the nature of man? What is the nature of God?" The question we ask ourselves is "Why am I me and why am I here?"
Many have tried to answer that question. But, in the end, it is quite simply impossible to know the truth. For how can one determine the meaning of life without knowing the meaning of death?
So, to allay our own ignorance, we assign some arbitrary, completely fictional creation of the human mind to death and we build upon the equation from there. Christians, Catholics, and the like call it Heaven. The Greeks called it The Afterlife. Buddists call it reincarnation. Because we are able to pretend that we know death, we were able to pretend that we know life. That we live to die. The afterlife is the ultimate goal. Death is our ultimate goal.
And why shouldn't it be? It is the greatest mystery of mankind. Were religions created not to control masses, but to confirm an individual's theory? A science, of sorts? “Die, and tell me if I'm right?”
Or maybe they were created to give man a false sense of purpose. The reason to live is to discover death and bask in its glory, or lack thereof, depending on the type of person you are.
There is some amount of horror in imagining that nothing exists for us after death. That we just stop, our time on this plane of existence ceases, and we go on, forever feeling nothing, thinking nothing. Unliving.
The true answer is that we do not know. That does not mean that we cannot speculate like fools. The more likely answer is that we cannot even begin to comprehend death, any more than we can comprehend the meaning of life or our own universe.
I await death's grasp, nervously, but in the knowledge that it will answer my question, even if I am not alive to understand its meaning.
On Dreams
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Have you ever woken up from a dream that was felt so real that your body was in the same position it was when you left the dream? So real, you could swear you felt the lips on your lips, the apology felt real, and so did the heat of her body on your's, the embrace, the smile, the sudden drop in mood? So real, you awoke with a melancholy, wishing that's the way things were? Feeling regret for the things you did in the dream, and in the real world for that matter?
Wishing you could bring the ghosts of an imagined world into reality?
Then you awake and everything is normal. Nothing's changed, the world is just the way it was, even though you had to turn your computer on and take a peak into her world by proxy to prove it to yourself.
Obsession, dreams... nothing more than trickery. Worlds wished up by a mind that can't or doesn't want to accept the truth. Ghosts. Frightening, frightening ghosts.
Other musings
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It is my firm belief that man was meant to be moving. Sitting, he slowly dies be it from lack of use of energy or lack of use of the creative spirit. As long as man moves, he can destroy excess and chase that vapid wisp that is inspiration to the ends of the Earth, if need be.
I don't claim my poetry to be "good." "Good" implies that it resonates with some part of your own being that you value, be it your sense of beauty, personal experience, or otherwise. Poetry that I have written which I approve of does a good job at conveying the emotion or experience I had in mind at the time of writing. I leave it to you to decide if the message is something true, or "good."
The truth is life is just one big drop into the infinite unknown; no one's ever returned from the bottom, and no one knows what's down there. It's my hope that I don't find someone worth falling for, but rather, someone worth falling with.
Love is giving someone the permission to hurt you in ways that no one else can. If you aren't willing to deal with the pain, or can't come to terms with it, don't fall in love.
