There'd be no doubt where we're from
But as it stands we don't have a clue
Especially me, and probably you.
Low - Especially Me
* * *
We are the six blind men describing an elephant, holding onto that piece our hands fall to and saying, "It is so. It is so." And we are are not wrong, but our truth is parochial, narrow, immediate. There are worlds we cannot imagine, let alone see or verify through our senses. This tips uneasily into ontology, the nature of being - a rabbit hole of ever tightening gyres - and in its headlong rush to origins it misses the greater, larger fact and mystery: we are here, now, and there is work to do.
What is that work?
Here's my answer: to embrace our consciousness, our limits and still reach out toward the future - the numinous juncture of desire and time.
And remember, this is a timed test.
* * *
A life lived hemmed in by the immediate, always responding to the blows of time and chance never has a chance to get any wind in its sails. We stumble and fall. We stagger from one point to the next: paying bills, holding onto shitty jobs, remaining in failed relationships or rifling through them like shuffling cards and never are we satisfied, never satiated, always uncertain that this is how life is, or is supposed to be. To answer such doubts we double down and drive harder into our immediate concerns. We booze. We whore. We sit on the couch and watch circus geeks parade in the puny glory of their fifteen minutes of fame and call it a day.
If that was all life had to offer us, well, I'll take a pass.
It isn't that I am above the immediate pleasures of this time and place, but there is more to it than just this. In answer to the question: Is this all there is? The answer is, fuck no.
In spite of our laziest tendency we are still builders of meaning. We want our lives, our deaths, our sacrifices, our joys to have meaning. We want to be immortal, though the horror of that is never hinted at. No, meaning comes because time is short for each of us. A lifetime is a pittance, except if you are the one living it (and I assume, because you are reading this you still live, therefore this shit matters to you). So, what is to be done? No one gets out of here alive. All the miracles of Jesus raising the dead and healing the sick, even if you believe them as gospel, were temporary. They still succumbed to life's hard calculus. Dust a thousand times over by now.
So, what is to be done?
Knowing that even those saved by the hand of Jesus still bit the dust has to take some of the sting and worry out of trying to out fox death. We are, each of us, dead men walking. So instead of fearing the inevitable, the unavoidable, try living fully awake instead, try reaching out beyond yourself, beyond your sense of the elephant, and tie your desire to your courage and meet the future as one who is awake, smiling and unwilling to miss this one chance to live.
Or you could just stay fucked.