eh

I've been down before. I've been alone most of my life. If I'd not been physically alone, then at least I felt psychologically alone. Some would say I take for granted those around me who continue to bless me with their love, and that if I appreciated their company better, I'd understand how supported and surrounded I really was. However, I feel that life is an interaction, which reflects your thoughts into a public space, bouncing around from person to person, hug to hug, smile to smile, and then back into your private thoughts again. The bridge between public and private, secret and ubiquitous, is a void which concepts like love, friendship, family, and even words themselves must cross. In all matters dialectical, a response to an initial input must be obtained, and the process of communication can only occur if the translation of thoughts cocoon into said action then morphs back into thoughts. The statement suggested that if you're friends love you, you’re going to be “OK”, doesn't hold true without your interpretation of their love. Take Terri Schiavo for example. Her neurological inabilities could not allow her to interpret and respond to her friend and family's love. She became destined to lose herself in the abysmal depths that intersect public and private psychosis. In a way, she became timeless, disjointed from thought, action and response. To the public, she lived 15 years in a vegetative state, 15 years of being fed by a tube in her stomach, 15 years of neurological solitude. But to Terri, she lived only one instant, one moment, as a singular being because she couldn’t distinguish the difference between time and space. Was this a brain defect or was it a blessing?

There's a natural paradoxical order to which our world defines meaning to words like "meaning" and "truth". But there can be no singular meaning in the paradox of our existence because of one very key aspect to reality: Time. Time separates our moments. Time allows the void between instances to exist and grow into infinite proportions. Without time, we could not separate one from two, me from you. But I wonder whether or not there is any separation between moments at all? Does time separate itself from the moment in which it affects? After all, can there be end points to an infinite system? The age-old question, "what came first, the chicken or the egg?" is a perfect example of the separation between moments. The answer is irrelevant, but the process of thought that surrounds the question is what complicates our theory of time. We as humans want to believe that there is a past, present, and we hope for a future. Linear time allows our brains to process thought and action, to determine what comes first, to chroniclize our existence so that we can come closer to prescribing meaning to our lives. We live for Truth. We die for Truth. We want there to be a life and a death, a Heaven and a Hell, this and that, a beginning and an end. We support a teological system because the thought of infinity frightens us. The thought that you and I are actually the same person, that we exist in the same instant as the same entity, confuses our brains. We want to believe we are different, unique, individuals, awesome at what we can accomplish on our own. Can one have the “I” without the “other”? Is there a reason we’ve yet to figure out consciousness through science? Can thought come before action? When I tell my finger to move, parts of my frontal lobes light up to tell me to tell my motor functions to move my finger, then eventually those signals get passed down through my spinal chord, into my fingers, the finger moves, and a message is sent back to my brain saying “good job.” But was my initial frontal lobe action a product of free will? Or was it fate, a consequence of organized chaos. Can there be a wrong place at the wrong time?

Ouroboros, the symbol of completion, of wholeness, of infinity, is the graphical representation of the human plight for meaning. The snake, eating its own tail, is birthing itself in the same instant it destroys itself. There is no separation of moments, no interpretations of actions, and no responses to interpretation. It's not a cyclical representation of the nature of the universe, but an allusion towards a greater universal suggestion: There is no distinction between space and time. Everything that ever was will always be. Humans are not born and they do not die. However they are always beginning and they are always ending. Choice co-exists within the instant as it allows humans to determine which vantage point they want to see the snake from.

Anyway, I thought I was going to write about something having to do with my heartbreak, but this is all I could poop out. I have another 6 hours at work; maybe I’ll try again later.