The illusion of understanding

The modern man has access to previously unimaginable amounts of information, but we cannot say he is well informed. The modern man has access to a vast amount of knowledge; however, we cannot say that he is wise. The modern man fools himself that he can know without experience and we find false preachers that talk not to enlight others but because they enjoy their voice sound.

They are like parrots. Give them a line, and they would repeat it, and even if in the beginning was the truth due to their foolishness through their repetition, they are going to twist it, adding glitter to make it more attractive but actually turning it uglier, obscurer and without meaning.

Owning knowledge without its related experience is shallowed, for it is like saying I know Michal Jackson by looking at a picture of him. Knowing how something looks like doesn’t mean you know its essence. Moreover, in order to experience something you don’t need to understand it, Logical explanations are crutches for an unfitted mind. It is what it is, without philosophical explanations or scientific analysis. It is the ego of human that wants to be above else though it’s intelligence. Still, his limited mind can only perceive a limited reality and explain its own made-up dream. What makes a man great it’s the awareness of his own littleness.

If you can explain an experience that you describe it’s the experience no more, it’s your twisted, limited understanding of what it is. Those who give their opinion over this or that, part-time philosophers they use full words to describe their empty reality. Sticks and stones, games are fun when you are little, but you stop playing them once you grow up. Who is right who is wrong, what is good what is bad, what is important what is illusory, what is this what is that, are questions of an unexperienced mind, a mind that needs support to live. It’s like when you learn to write, at first you need square paper to know when one thing begins and ends. As you advance to higher grades, when you master the shapes and forms you no longer need help, you can do it on an empty page.

A feeble sense of reality is caught in the sounds of those who experience it and are kind enough to describe it. Even then, some of its meaning it’s a loss, for to truly understand its quality, its weight, and intensity not only the presence of that emulation is needed- the storyteller, but your own experience. We are united in life, divided into our experience and reuniting through our stories.

We are a retold story, a memory that is rehearsed until is forgotten or engraved.

In a fundamental dimension, we all have the same experiences, loss, love, betrayal, hope. However these are experienced in different moments and contexts, and to contradict the habitual mundane thinking that doesn’t make them different in any sense- a loss is a loss no matter what is lost so is hope, no matter what is hoped for.

We like to think that we are unique, that we experience unique moments and hardships that were nowhere else seen, but we are nothing more than a retold story, thousands, millions of times, a memory that is rehearsed periodically until it is forgotten or engraved.

With love,

Originally published at on July 20, 2020.

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