Post with 3 notes
“Everybody who reasons carefully about anything is making a contribution to the knowledge of what happens when you think about something.”
There exists within me so vast a reservoir of untapped passion which funnels through my very bones and rides the current of my blood through breath by quantum breath of life, through all the daily wanderings and all the nightly sufferings and through my head, where lies a breadth of discontented wonderings.
I would rather die resigned and disconsolate that I never managed to find that person who could take me where I so desperately yearn to be, than pass on wondering if perhaps I should have looked a little harder. I’ve been fully prepared to die hopeless once before – I mean to ensure that if I face the situation again, that bleakness will be empirically warranted. What else am I to do with the undeserved extension I’ve been granted with this body, which houses my hopes and dreams and doubts and fears and everything I’ve ever known; for all these things are strictly linked by one communal fundament – I’ve only ever known them in my thoughts.
Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am; and as I am I am comprised of you, of everything we ever knew, of hopes and fears, the Earth, our tears and all their quantum elements. I am the face of empty space; these hands cradled the galaxy; my ancestry dates to ages immemorial, to the time before time was a concept. Forged in a hearth of nuclear fire, I walk the earth a testament to all the beauty of the cosmos, reifying existence itself by the very act of perceiving it. But so too do I rove this land ever exemplary of the fallacy of consciousness: for the very faculty by which I am gifted cognizance of myself and my environment will likely be my own undoing. I do hope; indeed, I pray - to God, to the Dead or the Void or whatever higher order there might be to the universe in which we live – that my failures and the failures of my generation represent a waning of the tide of suffering in human existence. That we shall perish in the penultimate era of a cruel and indifferent humanity, perhaps even living to see the death of the anthropocentricism of man and departing with some measure of faith that our species will live to grow beyond the bounds of our Mother Earth, to venture forth into that vast, expectant void to one day knock upon the door of God and pose that one ancient, exigent query: What are we doing here, and why?
Though I hold a sneaking suspicion that his answer may prove exceedingly simple: “Welcome home, my kin. It’s your turn.”
Another simple assignment for Philosophy, figured I’d put it up. The assignment was to read a simple passage of text in Ancient Greek, then write what you see “Upon gazing into the mirror of the text”.
Upon Gazing Into The Mirror Of The Text
I see…disquiet. An implacable confusion, beneath which lies a vast wealth of knowledge and understanding solely attainable through fearless passage into the unknown. I see all that I know as it might be known by one of whom I know nothing, and I ask myself what would differ in the knowing each of us might hold. Is that knowledge objective? Is there a truth, an immutable truth, behind the words, behind our cognitive constructions? Or are these naught but machinations of a feeble and underequipped mind endeavoring as valiantly as it is futility to comprehend the cosmos in which it finds itself?
In posing the very question, I deprive myself of the means to provide an adequate answer, as naturally one could not justifiably argue the fallacy of language through the use of words. In supposition, however, I would conjecture that the very subjective nature of language is exemplary of the objective nature of the cosmos – the universe is like a grand and ornate chronicle of all that is and was penned by the hand of God or whatever extrinsic omniscience lies outside of its parameters, written in the points and particles and waves and vibrations, the turning of pages the passage of time; and the hopes and dreams, altruisms and inequities, woes and wants and words of man the extolment of life, the essential constituent of existence for lack of which the scripture would never have been transcribed.