Monday, April 6, 2009
Questions following more Questions. Questions as answers.
I like getting back in touch with people whom I've lost touch with years ago. They are my history. I like remembering small details about my past, just from hearing a song I once listened to long ago. This constant affection for reminiscing, it insures me and gives me a false positive for what I soon won't remember. Are we getting older? I don't feel any older. Wiser, maybe; experienced, maybe; older? No. I have a fear of forgetting my past. I've done a lot of good, and I've done a lot of bad, but regardless, it is me. It has shaped me into this person, who I have finally come to terms with, and its on a higher level than just pure and simple consciousness. I am aware. I'm aware of all my weaknesses and strengths. I'm aware of my boundaries and my limits, but am not limited to those that I feel restrain me. Maybe I am finding ways to get out of it, to surpass, and to break free. Freedom, I feel its a figment of an imagination from years past. I want to experience the most concrete and congruent denotation of the word. It is just a word. It's not a feeling. To feel free would be to feel dead, and how can we feel dead, when we are dead? Trickery. But, death is not the end. So, maybe that is the beginning, and that is the freedom that we all hope for. Because we all live on, maybe not as humans, maybe not enslaved in our bodies, but maybe that's not "life." Maybe, life is beyond this life that we think of as life, and our true meaning of life is further beyond life as death. Is our existence meaningless? What would make it meaningful? Money? Sex? Partnership? Offspring? What makes this life meaningful? Selfishness? Compassion for others? Success? What are we existing for? So that we can get past this stage? So that we can see what is beyond this? Maybe our whole point is to experience ourselves in different places and time, and in different forms, so that we will get an idea, a perspective of what it is like as an other. But most people can't remember their past lives, or who or what they once were, so again, was this pointless? How can we appreciate something we ourselves can't remember?