Confession Number Six

I must confess...

... that I choose not to think about life.

By this, I mean that I don't like to think about the meaning of life, or what may happen after life. I have not accepted the fact that we will never know. It is difficult to write this because I am so unsure as to where I stand on the meaning of life.

Are we just a species that has evolved like our science teachers tell us? Or is there a higher being watching our lives as we go? Is there even such a thing as science or a god? Is this some world that no one understands so they make up religions or theories to find comfort in? Or are we beings from a different planet or reality, watching a complex 5-D movie? (5-D meaning 3-D plus feeling touch and feeling emotions) Maybe that is a little abstract, but hey it could be true.

There is no way to know for sure. One must have faith that their beliefs are true. Faith is like trusting that when you sit in a chair, it won't fall over. Or knowing that when you open the window, the glass won't break.

I wonder if this is all real? What is the true definition of real anyways? I don't believe there is a true definition of real.

I do not like thinking this way because I am so unsure. I would find comfort in knowing what life really is. But if we knew the meaning of life, would it be any fun? Because all you would do is long for something outside of what the meaning restricts you to. For example, if Christianity were true, there would be many people, including me, wishing for Science or explanations of how we were created rather than just being created. Knowing that you don't know is hard to think about.

But contrary to what I just said, I love not knowing and having a free life. Running around with your friends never knowing how much fun you will have. If you know how much fun you'll have, then it won't be fun at all.

Wow. Don't oxymorons explain life so well?

Confession Number Five

I must confess...

...that I just had a major revelation.

No one is right, and everyone is wrong.

That has to be what it is, because if any one person stumbled upon truth, even accidentally; we would feel it, wouldn't we? We would feel it instinctively in the marrow of our bones, in the core of ourselves which have no physical representation but give a very physical lurch.

We are all walking around spouting lies that are, at best, slightly less false than the majority of others. We reason and think and lie and hurt and bleed things that are not blood. We are so clouded on the inside that we even feel the need to twist the simple facts: The man is dead, but we simply need to know why he died and how he died and who was there when he died?

If we can't even accept a simple truth, a fact of life and nature, how can we know the answers to anything else? What is the meaning of life and Where do you go when you die and whywhywhy did this happen to me of all people and wherewherewhere do I go from here.

We ask profound questions and expect to understand. We get simple answers and refuse to accept.

I don't understand;
I accept that.