PITYING THE POOR OYSTER

At a certain point he had lost his propensity to believe. It was not any particular decision or conscious awareness; he simply reached a point at which he saw through belief itself to its inherent lack of reality, its emptiness, pointlessness and foundationlessness. He was neither agnostic nor atheist, which to him, were simply more beliefs, more labels for believers, even believers in non-belief. He did not feel “lost” or “rudderless,” but rather perhaps afloat upon a great sea, heaving high and falling low, which was no belief on his part, but rather a sense of the circumstances or situation of being in life itself. He was aware that various philosophers and philosophies had said such similar things, used much the same metaphor for existence, but it was not his belief; it seemed more his observation, his metaphor for existence, to him. He asked himself, “So, is one’s metaphor, one’s explanation for what one observes or senses to be considered as one’s belief?” His response: “Only to the extent that one finds oneself clinging to such a metaphor or observation or sense.” He felt that metaphors or observations or senses were not concrete or otherwise solid, but were changeable and passing, or at least open to such change. Certain things that he considered to be perhaps “truer” than other things were “observable facts within nature itself,” such as regeneration of life in a similar form: leaves on trees, corn, animals, humans. To him this was not “belief” but was real and obvious as well as “provable.” So if a tree is “reborn” each spring with a new layer of bark over its older layer, to his mind it was still the same tree in essence, though now with new bark on the outside and new leaves on the branches. Humans were born as babies. It was logical to him that they should in essence be much like trees that retained the “same basic identity” from life to death/dormancy to life.” He had to admit though that he was using the “progression of nature” to present his own belief in a kind of “conscious immortality,” or at least a certain kind of awareness stretching through numerous changes within a particular species. But, as initially stated, he had lost his propensity to believe, while still keeping at least a few “essential beliefs” in place. But he knew he was in fact still a believer, God forbid. There could be no denying it. With such a context still intact, the world remained his oyster, though he still rightfully pitied the poor oyster and himself feasting on it.

BIDING TIME

As it is true that we make ourselves, we also must unmake ourselves. Our lives ultimately do us in, closing around us until we just can't live them. To the extent that we are compelled to "put ourselves together," such is done in the awareness that it is all a farce. If we are of this mind, we are unable to see "the point of it all," including the point of our own existence. I am one who has fervently believed so many things that explained life and "the point of my own life." I believed I "knew" so many things about Truth and Reality. And I was certain. It all "made sense" and was "quite logical" to believe what I believed. It was certainly easier than not believing, than not have any particular "point" to my existence. Belief and hope are a very weak crutch. And without them I found myself in despair. When one is young and healthy such despair can be quite fashionable; one can praise the "darkness" and romantically feel the pain of such lostness. But as one fades to oneself and loses any momentum, which is actually faith in the "proper turning out of things," there is nothing to hold onto any longer. And I don't believe that this nothingness is any kind of a passing state; one does not "get better" in life. Living loses any inherent fascination for us; we bide our time.

A BRIEF MOMENT

God is not quite reaching to save me but then this is something that I have to deal with and get through before life gets through with me. The situation is not ironic at all; it is simply the process of life—which ends on the physical level. It is not personal but much greater than that. It often feels personal, partly because I was indoctrinated with this notion of a “personal God who cares about me.” One who believes such things, even “just” deeply and even if they “understand” it is false, is bound to have expectations and consequent profound disappointment as well as disillusionment, for it is a most insidious illusion. However, life is not unfortunate; it simply is as it is. Life is not to be blamed. False teachings of a God of Illusion by religions of delusion are to be blamed. The fact that we are stupid and unable enough to possess the discrimination through which to think adequately is absolutely unfortunate. But some of us are able to escape the cave and its darkness and falseness, finding ourselves initially absolutely blinded by the light of the sun, which may last lifetimes and lifetimes, but ultimately we do see. All is not lost.