Life Is My Master, and I the Slave

This is a golf cart tunnel @ 1AM that goes under the Bluffton Parkway. I never go through it, out of lack of necessity, but I always pass it on my bicycle when I take the Parkway. Thought I'd stop and snap a quick pic.

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Alright. So I was riding my bicycle trying to think of something profound to talk about. Normally I might have a destination and so I would be forced to think about where I was going, but as I rode tonight (or this morning, however you wanna look at it), I had no place to go. I was riding just to ride. You would think that riding for more than 10 miles on a bicycle would render your mind full of topics on which to think, but that's not true in my case. I could hardly think of anything at all. I had things like: 

I'm gonna try riding with no hands for a while. Oh, hey, this is easy. I'm going to Google Map how far I rode with no hands. The moon is pretty bright tonight. It's supposed to be a "supermoon." Doesn't look any bigger than normal. Well, I suppose it looks a little bigger. This headlight is supposed to last 75 minutes, but I swear to god I've used it for 3 or more hours on the same batteries. I wonder when my tail light will go out. I probably won't even notice when it does. These trails are pretty dark. My face has wreaked... is it wreaked? Should I say wrecked? No. Wrought? Maybe. My face has wrought havoc on so many spiderwebs tonight. Dem spidas mus' be hatin'. This trail is fairly dark. I wonder if there are any people on it. They should probably have lights on them if they're out this late, otherwise I won't be able to see them...

I probably should have stopped sooner; you get the point. I was, however, able to think briefly about one topic I thought appropriate to write on. That topic is life. First, I'd like to refer you to an old Facebook note that I just posted to WOW: "Somewhat Random Musings of My Ever Twitching Fingers." In that post I talked about people saying that life is what you make it. In this current post I would like to talk about another perspective in which I see life. And again I will kill you with metaphors.

1) Life sucks. Life is great. But what's the point in all the good and all the bad?

2) First, remove yourself from your human perspective. Humans have terrible lives, but sometimes they enjoy it. What do they live for? I'm not asking for their motive, rather I am asking for the reason they exist. You could say that they have a purpose and place as organisms living on and affecting the earth. 

3) But let's break it down even further. What is the point in life overall? There are plants and animals and then there are inanimate objects (for lack of a better term due to what appears to be a lacuna). Why  does life itself exist, rather than inanimate objects?

4) And lastly, why does anything exist at all?

There are no answers to this chain of questions. But I'd like to work with them to form a new perspective.

Life sucks. Life is great. But what is the point in living? Well, who cares. It's not like you can go back into the womb. Of course, you could kill yourself, but I don't like that train of thought. Honestly though, thinking rationally, if you decide for yourself that this life isn't worth everything that comes with it and suicide is your choice, logic will not blame you. I am not, however, condoning suicide; just covering all bases.

The way I've come to see the way we treat life is in a master/slave relationship. The master wants you to clean the bathroom twice a day, milk the cows at every dawn, till the field after every picking, collect chicken eggs at the end of each week, cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day, and on and on and so many requests. But the master also provides you with food and shelter and breaks here and there to ease the workload. Sometimes he'll give you a sip of that expensive champagne. You think to yourself though, he only does this for me so that I will keep working for him. 

With that in mind, you may think life is a master that has arbitrary rules and makes irrational requests, but sometimes it shows grace and provides gifts wrapped in happiness. And this grace and happiness is  life's way of keeping you alive. But that doesn't mean you should reject happiness to spite life. Because life isn't really a thing. It doesn't do anything. Ultimately, it isn't a master and you are not a slave.

I still don't believe that life is what you make it. But to me, life doesn't matter. Because to me, life has no point. There's no reason all of life exists and therefore no ultimate reason that I exist. But I do live, so I'm not going to spend my life living being miserable or missing out on opportunities for happiness. Existence is not my master, but I am its willing slave.

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One last thing. Everything I wrote above is assuming there is no God and/or afterlife. Obviously if there was you could say that life exists because God created it and our reason for living is for the everlasting happiness after we die. So I suppose this post is for the atheists and agnostics. Peace.

Somewhat Random Musings of My Ever Twitching Fingers

(Preface: This is a re-post of a note that I wrote on Facebook back on October 20, 2011. I'm surprised I hadn't posted it earlier, seeing as its title is Word Once Withered's tagline.)

Usually, when I write a note, it contains words of my short stories or poetry. In this case I am writing for the hell of it. Because I just feel like speaking to no one in particular. But to you. I feel like writing to you.

Making the world your own is ridiculous. "The world is what you make it." F*** you. How about I rip your heart out and you go on making your world happy. Have fun with that.

Sometimes you can make the world, but the conditions have to be perfect. You have to have all of the ingredients. You can't build on top of a wreckage. You have to clear the build site first. Metaphors aside, when you are broken and feel the pain of such, you cannot simply move on or be happy for whatever arbitrary reason you try to rationalize.

You are going to feel the pain and it is going to hold you under the surface. You will resist. You will say that everything is going to be okay, even though you can't bring your head above the water. Soon the hand that holds you under will weaken and retreat. You're not dead. Sometimes people will die... But you're not dead. You've become numb. So numb that you don't even realize the force is gone. That you can pull yourself up. You remained submerged. Rarely, another hand will come along and help you out.

Here, though, when you're head remains submerged and nothing is keeping you there: that is when the conditions are perfect. You are numb. You are empty. The only thing holding you back now is you. You and, perhaps, "a sick desire for self-abuse." But here is where you can make the world.

The world is what you make it? No. The world is what you and 6,000,000,000 some odd other people make it. It's not just your world. It's a world you occupy with those around you. So if you do want to conquer the world, maybe you should conspire with those around you, friends, enemies, and those in between.

This world is full of sick, broken people, and you are one of them. Fix yourself. I don't know how you're going to do that, but you need to. For you, for me, and those in between. "Be the change you want to see in the world." It's a lot like voting in a presidential election. For the US, you are simply one in 300,000,000 people. Who are you? You are one lonely number. For changing the world, you are one in 6,000,000,000 people. Who are you? No one. You pracitcally don't exist.

So why change the world and why try to make it yours? Just be you. No rationalizations. No hesitation. Just act. Just be. If you're sad, I'm here to help you through it. If you're happy, I'm here to enjoy it with you. If you're somewhere in between, I'll be here to figure out where you stand.

The world can be what we make it. For ourselves. In our tiny little bubble. Everything else can be forgotten. Do all you need to do all you need to do. But do it for you. Because everyone else is doing for themselves. Nothing's wrong with that. Nothing's wrong with you.

One last thing. I love you. That's all. No need for explanation. Just acceptance.  Whoever you are, my dear reader, I love you.

Rabbit Holes