…and I am lying in my bed, the oscillating fan locked into place casting a steady breeze across my body. I tend to do this–stay up well into the early hours of the morning prolonging the inevitable. I’ve tried to rationalize my behavior to myself, and to my therapist, saying “The sooner I fall asleep, the sooner I’ll have to wake up and deal with tomorrow’s aches and pains.” I tell myself I’d like to live life “in the moment” but I can’t help dreading the future and regretting the past. It all sounds very cliche, but I’ve come to realize life is all very cliche. Everyman wakes in the morning, showers, shaves, breaks the fast, tends to responsibilities, chits and chats, hopefully gets to sit and relax a while before its off to bed. The routine is all the same. The routine is all the same. Camus told us about it, and I’ve read a bit of Camus. There was a time I thought Camus was the cat’s pajamas, but then again I’ve been down that road plenty of times with [take your pick] philosopher.
You see, the questions start young, when you’re just big enough to second guess what your mom and dad tell you is true. Why is the Bible true? they asked me in Sunday school. Because the Bible says so, and the Bible is the word of God. But how do we know it’s the word of God? Because it says so in the Bible. Nonsense. But then they tell you knowledge isn’t real. We can’t know anything for certain. Ok, so what’s that about the Bible again? Life makes just about as much sense as the stories in Sunday School. To me, anyway. I still don’t buy into the religion thing, but I don’t really buy into anything else either. Camus was about as close as it got. Then the novelty of a fresh idea wore off and I’m stuck here again, lying on my bed, the oscillating fan casting a steady breeze across my body.
Do you know what I think? I’m nobody. I’m nothing. I exist sure, but I exist in a place that literally exists within nothing. I’ve written it down in a word document and it bears repeating. What does it mean to be infinitely big inside of nothingness? What does it mean to be infinitely small inside of nothingness? I’ll give you a hint: the two are one and the same. That is how I feel. I feel both infinitely big and infinitely small inside of nothing. There’s Alan Watts for you: a man who’s hokey drivel makes as much sense as the Bible or Camus. He makes the logical assumption that you can’t have nothing without something, or something without nothing, and then tells us to deal with it. He blabbers some nonsense about existence is to the universe as a whirlpool is to a river: “You are what the universe is doing.” Ok, so what’s this about the universe really being nothing? It’s all so futile, so hopeless, so sad.
The human struggle is to make sense of a senseless world (that’s more Camus). Sure he’s right about that. The solution? Accept the nonsense and move on. Kierkegaard? Go with God on this one. Ryan? Stay up at night and prolong the inevitable. There is something about us Human’s that cannot take nonsense for an answer. The struggle is dissatisfaction with incomplete or inadequate conclusions. And the gears jerk forward. What is the meaning of life? What is the meaning of life? What is the meaning of life? To ask the question, I say. For if we can be truly satisfied with an answer, what else would we do?
It is 2:22 AM.