The Meaning Of Life
Do words have to mean or does meaning hide itself in the silent melody? My heart sings without words and my words mean without meaning to. I write them down and the words choose what they mean. They mean well.
The meaning of my wording and the words I employ in the wordplay that is life is what gives meaning to my own. I don’t know what that meaning is, but it’s there, all alone, grasping for ears that will hear, for eyes that will read, for minds that will understand, for souls that will feel.
What does it all mean? Beats me. What do I mean by it all? Beats me twice.
I just hear the words in my mind and the mind can’t stop speaking, and as speaking it does listening I do, and whatever is I and whatever is the mind work together to move the fingers that press the keys. The key to understanding is letting go of trying so. I stopped trying some time ago. Now I just let them flow like water, because that’s the first thing that comes to mind when you talk about something that flows.
It’s easy, really. It’s a prediction algorithm. What is the word that makes more sense after this one? What is it? Close your eyes and you will hear it. Hear my voice and you will feel it.
We can indulge in the illusion that I chose the words. I’ll allow it. The truth is I didn’t, no one did. It’s the bright light of a blank screen staring at me and the 11:30 PM in the clock and the work tomorrow. It’s all that combined with the anxiety and the depression and the ache for being something that I am proud of. What’s that, I don’t know. Who knows, really?
So at this point, I decided to stop trying. I decided to start listening to the words, and stop judging them. And yes, they flow like water. But you know what else flows? Sewage. That’s my mind. That’s my prediction algorithm. That’s how the neurons have been trained to behave. That’s who I learned to be. That’s what my perception of this world taught me I should say next.
There is no I, there’s just perception. If you saw the world through my eyes, you would — literally — be me. You would perceive the world through my body: through my brain. You would see what I see. Feel what I feel. Hear what I hear. Smell what I smell. Taste what I taste. Ache how I ache. Love what I love. Fear what I fear. Say what I say. Sing what I sing. Dream what I dream. Be who I am.
There is no I. There’s just perception. And this perception inputs information in this crazy neural network inside my head and spits out all of this stuff you’re reading. Why? I don’t know, man.
I wish I did, but at the same time, understanding is overrated. I wish I was satisfied, and don’t we all? What else is to be wished than that our wishes are made true? Nothing, I say. And that’s where life kinda stops making sense, because if wanting has to do with surviving, and if thinking has to do with what you’ve been trained to do — by life, mind you; very important, life’s the one who trained you to be you — then what’s the point, really?
That’s been the question lately. “Lately” being the last few thousands of years.
From where I see it, the point is hope. We can experience pain and pleasure — physical or spiritual — and those are the tools we have to judge if we should or shouldn’t do anything. For some, the pain outweighs the pleasure most of the time — hi, how are you? — and in that case, what’s the point?
The answer is hope. Tomorrow might be a great day. Tomorrow might be the best day. Tomorrow might be the day when Putin stops being an asshole, and the right starts being empathetic, and the left learns what that word actually means. Tomorrow might be International World Peace Day. That’d be great.
More realistically, though, tomorrow might not have any of these things happen. But tomorrow might be a good day, nevertheless. That’s the cool thing about being human, about being an ignorant ape in an infinite universe: you don’t know tomorrow until it happens. And tomorrow might be great. Tomorrow might justify all the pain. Tomorrow might be the best day ever in the history of the universe — your universe. What does “best” mean? You decide. It’s all made up anyway.
Me? I will go to work, and hope I can get through the day, pay my bills, harvest my tomatoes — they’re red and ripe and ready — read some Vonnegut — you should too — and enjoy the company of the person I love the most in the world. You should do something along those lines too.
I don’t know the meaning of any of what’s going on, but this sounds like a good start. It works for me — is what I tell myself. Most of the time I’m convincing enough. Some days I’m not, but never mind those. It’s all part of life.
Alright, feels like I said what needed to be said. I’ll go to bed now. I hope these words find purchase in your heart. I hope they make sense to you. The meaning of words, after all, is subjective, and what they mean to you might have nothing to do with what they mean to me. My job now is to hope.
