For as long as I can remember, I have thought that,
ultimately, there were objective Answers, even
to the questions that my mind had yet to form.
Questions about life and death, truth and fantasy, who we
are, why we’re here,
What meaning does it all have?
Is there a God? Is there an afterlife? Heaven and hell?
Reincarnation?
Is the world of matter and physically observable reality all
that exists?
Surely, there are firm truths that can cut through the myths,
separating actual facts from
Made up stories.
But I’m not so sure about that anymore.
I’m leaning toward the notion that all is fiction.
Stories we tell ourselves to give us a sense of purpose,
place and identity.
Events happen, we describe them and give them their form.
Consciousness is a bitch.
I wish I could experience life without it for a moment,
See if it would be better.
But then, how would I know?
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.