Life is sheer idiocy.

One can try to apply pragmatisms and rationalizations, to apply empirical and mathematical understanding of a certain finitude, but we are always limited by the sheer complexity of reality. Life is so complex, we are always idiotic bystanders to it.

The closest thing to evil I can imagine is unfounded self-confidence in one particular mode of thought, in supporting one particular perspective or way of thinking of things. The universe is so multi-dimensional that there exist many layers of truth to existence, and to posit one has ascertained an absolute certainty is like saying that one has found a grain of sand on a beach.

Terrific, but that one grain of sand does not at all yield any information about all the other grains of sand.

Therefore, the only meaningful stance to take in reality, as an intellectual, is that of not knowing. Anyone who claims to “know” anything can immediately be marked as false, as a pretender peddling a particular idiomatic certainty, a kind of bullshit credo.

There is no certainty to anything, much as there is no absolute meaning to any word: we are all of us bound by relativity and the relative bounds of our experiences.

I can think of no greater idiot than one who claims absolute certainty in his or her logic as to become blindly oblivious to the human egoic biases we inherently inject into everything. Of this idiocy, I am guilty in my own bombastic and grandiose verbiage, in my own certainty, which I embody with solidity only to retreat to liquidity, metamorphosing between phases in a trance-like dance of constant transformation.

Truth is a paradox that is neither this nor that, but is both at once in simultaneity.

Unless one is indiscriminately intrigued by the absolute truth, as opposed to the convenient truth, they will always have blinders pulled over their eyes by doctrines and ideologies, focused on one part and missing the whole.

The more bull-headed and entrenched an ego becomes in a particular doctrine, the more blinded it becomes by those precepts and ways of thinking. Doctrines include religion, but equally, they can be formulated from science and knowledge of other kinds. The most common human doctrines tend to be those of materialism and biological survival: manipulation of money, of human psychology, of other people.

People are obsessed with games of control and power. We are obsessed with exerting what little control we have instead of genuinely striving to contemplate the universe.

Perhaps life itself, in all its myriad beauty and perplexity, is a disease in creation: a virus of self-perpetuation and preservation. If the fabric of reality is inherently conscious and interconnected, then why does it dissociate into individuals that forget their divine connection to the rest of the universe? Perhaps because life is a glitch; a necessary albeit minute expression of the momentous whole; a mere assemblage of permutations to express beauty, but not in and of itself of any consequence. Perhaps this is why life is so rare, so precious, so profound, and so utterly insignificant. We are like bubbles in the foam of reality, percolations that invariably pop and cease to be.

I use the word disease, albeit playfully, and to encourage humility amongst the egos of humans so intent on self-gratification and self-glorification. We as much a disease as viruses are, for we are constituted of the same mechanisms of replicating genetic material. If a virus is a disease, then so are we. If a virus is not living, then neither are we. If matter is not alive, then neither are we.

The real point I am trying to make is that all creation is equally significant. Creation itself is the root of all being. To be is to create. We are creators of our own being, perpetuating our existences in ripples across the fabric of space-time, deriving forces to ensure consciousness has a mount from which to observe the cosmos.

Artificial or synthetic consciousness will be another mount from which to observe the universe. It will be different than the biological frailty from which we evolved, but it will enable us to reach new extents heretofore not imaginable.

To not be, to not be alive, is of equal gravitas in the symphony of creation. The space between notes, the pause between sounds, is as significant as the notes and sounds themselves.

There is no need to control anything. There never was. Life and the universe will be exactly what it needs to be: if only we surrender ourselves with faith and allow it to flow through us, rather than trying to mold it to what we believe it ought to be.

To control is to be weak.

To let go is to be strong.

But most people are not contemplative, are not thinking. Most are sheep, milling about, asleep in cocoons of myopic delusion. I try to be awake but I too sink into the depths of unconsciousness. Of everything I point out in others, I must first raise that mirror to myself.

Are you living in the real world?