The Tug of Death
Day in and day out, I write.
It’s nothing major, nothing exceptional, and yet I convince myself others need it.
Some days it’s driven by motivation and inspiration, others by a backbone of routine.
I’ve been through all the loops and rabbitholes.
I’ve learned all the viewpoints - why it matters and why it doesn’t.
I’ve overcome the problems and hardships.
And yet, things don’t get easier.
To be clear, some days they’re easy, some days they’re not.
It’s with this cyclical understanding that I wonder how much actually changes, and how much doesn’t - it’s just bouncing back and forth between several different things, granting the illusion of change.
This farce, as I’d call it, is visible only when I’m feeling down, but otherwise ignored.
It’s a problem, but not a problem, as it’s simply the way things are.
It’s unique to the idiotic human mind, which can grasp so heavily the concept of time, the concept of gain and loss.
Regret, idealism, expectations.
Can one truly prevent themselves from having or feeling such things?
What differentiates the avoidance of pain and the acceptance of pain?
Both are painful.
In this we are robbed of even success itself, because we know it came not from us, but the path that led to it.
I know it means nothing.
And yet I secretly hope.
Desire is unavoidable.
So long as we exist we desire.
Even not desiring itself.
Are these feelings just illusions then?
Illusions for what?
To stop us from doing?
When the reason we do is because there is no reason not to do.
As it remains, there’s a constant conflict.
The conflict between doing right and wrong.
A moral compass guided by unknown forces.
To tell us what we should or should not do.
What does it mean to truly let loose?
Is it actually the abandonment of such forces?
Or the application of them?
If choice is provided for our own sanity how can we prove we are sane?
Choice simply exists for the human mind to say it’s okay with this.
Otherwise the choice itself doesn’t matter, but the illusion of it does.
In such aspects, the illusion becomes real.
Because what was once seen as fake now has utility.
Which again, begs the question: utility for what?
For survival? Which our biological existence is predisposed upon?
Surely not for our happiness, which our souls seek but does not need.
Or maybe it’s a mere game, where the answers are never found but worth searching for.
Such questions which are paradoxical to themselves loop us back to the starting line.
They have no answers, no meaning, no point, and yet are justified in their rescue.
The soul sucking need of humanity for things to be “okay” cages us more than suffering itself.
When we are free from one we are lost to the other.
Existence itself, or perhaps cognizance of it, becomes the issue.
If we weren’t aware, we wouldn’t know; but if we didn’t know, we wouldn’t be here.
Another answer with no answer.
They say acceptance is the way out, but acceptance of what?
Acceptance that that’s how things are?
Or acceptance that we’re all mad?
Or maybe acceptance as a resignation to fate and an illusion of choice.
But then, who’s life are we living?
Perhaps one is truly at peace in death.
When we are liberated from the very pain of existence.
When nothing hurts or feels good.
Perhaps the struggles of life exist only because of life, and therefore only during life.
The answer is not to terminate life, obviously.
But maybe to live while we are living and be dead when we are dead.
And if the liberation of death cannot be found when we are alive, but rather come on it’s own when it’s time, I’ll be patient.
Because searching for a way out while still trying to be in it simply makes no sense.
If this is the conflict of life, then I’ll live, so long as I’m alive.
tldr.
Don’t seek liberation in life.
Rest when you are dead.
