For what? #4

There is so much I want to say, yet for some inexplicable reason I can`t get the words out. Xerxes tells me to go for it, but my sweet guide is forever on a path to shake me into the so called "reality". Now, that is one thing that is a misnomer, for reality is illusion and illusion is reality. One may seek the answers as to how to open up this box of mystery, if it is that. Write, write, write he eggs me on--into probably a place where I never have been, and never dare to venture. There are all kinds of frightening probabilities there for me--for us, so dare I?

I, as you are a living  breathing bloody contradiction in every conceivable way. We are the conjurers of the mystical, of the magical, of the illusion that we drape ourselves into every single day. You said,

"if nothing has changed what is it for? If all is the same". Well you maybe right there to some degree, for we seem to create this world around us and we chain ourselves to it. No escape, no reprieve , no freedom. We are stuck and the exit is blocked by our materiality, and of course the mirage of love. 

Yes that word--seems to be the end all and be all of creation. But as I see it, it is the song of the Spheres that lures the sailors to their untimely death. Or those enchanting mermaids, the very lure of love, of happiness that can  never be captured, for it is nonexistent. And when we step through the door we realize it is nothing special, there seems to be nothing there, we only realize its value once we no longer posses it. So does it actually exist? How strange is that I ask you? 

Yes--been there done that, all has been said--now what? Well  what`s next? The greener grass, the new hunt, the mysterious adventure that awaits until the mystery is discoveredd, well realized that there is no mystery at all in-fact, just the ordinary, mundane and the boring,-- all a total lie to deceive us. Each human being is walking in the same shoe exactly, no difference at all. That is why the rich are unhappy, the poor are unhappy, the young are unhappy, the old are unhappy--and all are waiting and expecting a miracle of the divine-- with the words, "I am the exception to the rule" Yeah--dream on, you the dreamers of the impossible dreams, fight those windmills to your hearts delight for nothing makes a difference anyway. At least you can say that you have fought those phantoms. Everything is a huge delusion.

That is why the only happy people were the ones that strictly lived in their mind--like Hafiz and Rumi. They have always had their excuses--that being that it is all for "God". Yet, where is God apart from in the heart and mind. We believe totally, yet there is always the uncertainty of "well maybe we are wrong". No wonder you at times get angry at God for not showing himself, you could never catch him in the act no matter how good you were, or how bad for that matter. No matter how much you prayed and no matter how much you raved and ranted or begged--still he remains a huge mystery you could not lure him into the light. 

Grant it he does reveal himself in creation and the exquisite beauty, order and precision of the universe. But what if it is a mere fluke, what if all those atheists are correct--but then what if they are not. Maybe we should live according to Pascals law, or not. Nothing makes sense at all, nothing is correct, nothing is rational and above all nothing is visible apart from the eyes of the soul. Well if there is a soul in the first place, no proof of that at all either way. Probably more so on the "non existent"side.

All and everything seem so hopeless, so useless, so worthless but above all senseless. Then the question arises, why go on? Is there some  rationality of going on, or is it more sensible to end it all, for that is the end anyway. Why prolong the exercise? Well now that you have discovered you new life, well which was always there it just got illuminated let`s say by some human intervention, or maybe some divine intention --but in reality is there a point to all of this honestly? To any life young or old, yet we cling to it with desperation so to experience an other miserable day in the sun, or some days in a blizzard. In the end, there is the end--as some great poet, God knows who said "the dark, cold grave awaits us" Bloody right, it sure is. Yet man yearns for immortality, for eternity --yet non exists, never did, never will only some figment of the imagination that dreams that man is immortal, yet he is dust and unto dust he shall return . This is the truth, this is reality.