Here is a little effort to explain one or two of my infinite strange mental meanderings throughout the last few weeks. I did not end up writing about this, exactly as I wanted to, but there are bits and pieces.

I am not sure what has been causing these odd pathways of thought….I feel like I have been perceiving things a little more closely than usual. Its as if, rather than living here, in the real word, as it is, I feel like I am living in my mind, sort of like a person standing inside a glass-enclosed balcony, high over the ground, observing. I had a moment of clarity this morning, feeling strangely depressed, thinking about things that I would do better not to think about, and feeling horribly suffocated and wanting to be elsewhere. I stepped outside…worried, bothered, somewhat under the weather, wishing I could be in whatever my own little idea of paradise was at the time. Then suddenly…I stopped…because I thought I heard something, something which surprisingly I don’t think I’ve ever heard before, although it’s there every day. I heard the birds chirping, two or three different kinds, one shrill and high, the other one lower, and rumbling, rolling through the air like spilling water through the wind. Right there, I sat down, and lay on the ground, watching the sky. We all have the choice to make any moment our own retreat, and it’s usually right there in front of us. After a few moments, I sat up, the experience already somewhat lost in my mind, but it helped.

I don’t exactly know where I’m going with this. But the only way I can explain, at least this particular idea (out of quite of few), is that I’ve begun to understand exactly how powerful the human imagination is. Following the idea of the man inside the glass observatory, he has the power to change the world around him as he sees fit. I can look outside to the east right now and see the deck, the trees, the road, the field, then the trees on the mountain and finally the watch tower partially obscured by power lines, and from this I can decide whether I am seeing all that…or whether, instead, I am seeing a collection of shapeless colours, infused into a shifting miasma of light and fog, and my mind only sees it as such, because this is what it knows. Or perhaps, I can imagine that the tree on the right is a vivid color of fuchsia, whereas in reality it is a somewhat less exciting brown. Right now I feel as if I am pulling things out of my arse just to say them, but it is frustrating, because I have a general idea I want to say but I cannot seem to put it into word-speak, and all I can explain are tiny little fractured, incomplete and unexplained shards.

But I shall continue.

Life seems to exist for the purpose of life. This troubles me. I guess this is my own way of asking the old question of the purpose of man’s existence, but I am not asking that. I am asking what the purpose of life, as a whole is. Every living creature is designed to try to ensure the continuation and perpetuation of it’s species across any habitat. Humans have taken their natural mechanisms a step further and found things they enjoy doing, as if to distract them from their ultimate and true purpose, to ensure the continual existence of more humans in some form or another. In short, it seems we have gotten very good at lying to one another, and quite satisfied with this, we continue about our daily business worrying about the value of the dollar in a country we do not live in.
How, then, can we look at the rest of the world, and it’s history, and not ask the question of why? Suppose all of life was just erased. Bam. It’s gone. We now are a planet like the millions of others floating around in the gigantic divine hoover canister, crashing aimlessly into dust and rock.

And now the honest human thought occurs. There isn’t any reason why we should exist. The universe will exist without us. We are not important. Then, following, why should the universe exist? Poof. No more universe. There is now nothing but white space. Nothing exists, and you are not there to know it is not happening. This is why people are afraid of death; this is why I am afraid of death. We all want to survive, even after death. The idea of being nothing is scarier than death, whereas, in some sense, it is death itself.

Hello, we’re back on earth again. Hello stars, hello universe, hello smiling sun. Life is well again.

Those who live in the present are happy beings. I speak not of druggies or drunks, bless their antic-causing hearts, but instead of a mindset that anyone can adopt. They say ignorance is bliss…perhaps not knowing how to use a screwdriver is not, but not worrying about the future of the universe, or the reason for being, can cause one to have an entirely more desirable life. However, curiosity is the nature of man; we want to know our enemy, so to speak. If you look at art, they rarely depict things as they are. Photography, perhaps, but even then liberties are taken to brighten, darken, sharpen and blur, and depict things in the way the artist finds beautiful. This is because few truly find beauty around them, in the actions of others, in their world.  This is why it is almost always more enjoyable to talk with another about the sunset reaching it’s warm fingers over a quiet stream buried in dew-covered green banks, shadowed by the rustlings of many trees parting for the wind’s breath, than to actually be there and wonder where the bug spray is.

As far as I understand, the happiest moments in life are ones where you can be there, and realize this is your fantasy, your imagination and your desire, and this is wonderful.

I find people scary, and the lack of people scary. I find people frightening, mean, beautiful, and strange. I yearn for a person who is not a person. Someone who you meet who doesn’t have any friends, and suddenly neither do you, and you don’t have a job, you don’t have a history, its all gone, erased, and there, for a moment, is an utter gap between reality and fantasy, imagination forgotten for a moment where all you know is that you are there, and so are they.

Sometimes it is good to forget.

Sometimes I wish to travel to a foreign country, but I realize I want to travel to an alien country. Think of a single island in a single ocean on a single world with a single sun and single moon washing down through the singular person on that island, and that is you, and it does not matter what is happening elsewhere on the world, because you are the world at that one given point, a singular sentient entity watching the freshwater waves washing over sands that melt into forest that melt into rocks that slide into heights, as you watch from a mountaintop amongst tumbling snow that rolls down into liquid crystal, that feeds the ocean that caresses the land.

This is where I want to go.

Sometimes I also wonder what it would be like to dirt bike on Mars, but that is a silly idea.

If we moved in synchronous orbit with the sun, one side of the earth would be a scorched and unimaginably hot desert, while the other side would be a frozen hinterland. I imagine that the barrier between the two would be a rather nice place, and I would call it Dawn on the east side, or north perhaps, and Dusk on the west or south. This would be a nice place.

At times I find myself desiring to be a wasp buzzing through the air wondering what the odd, lurching creatures below me are, and why they seem to be making awfully loud noises as I collect wood from this strange box-shaped tree and hello, that almost hit me…that was not very nice, please go away…please stop yelling, I don’t like being touched, and so I sting.

The self importance of humans bothers me. If we could find ourselves in the perspective of an animal, for a short amount of time, I think we would understand what we are doing wrong. But for some reason people see an animal’s intelligence as below us, rather than simply separate. How can you measure the IQ of an animal unable to answer the same questions as us?