There is a certain section of your psyche, I like to call oblivion, where all coherent thought goes to die. If you close your eyes long and hard enough, and block out all the noise of the world, I like to think that you return to, or at least as close as you can get, to your state before you came to be, and became riddled with this terminal disease called life, before embarking on this inescapable race called death.
On several trips to oblivion, usually prompted by a significantly hefty dose of Nihilistic Philosophy and a rather well brewed, if I do say so myself, pot of chamomile tea, I tend to wonder, as most people do, why? Why are we born? why do we die? are we born just to die? What meaning does living have? What is the point? Why… why… why?
Now one characteristic of oblivion is that while most people usually move on to more present things after this line of self-question, the nature of mental quietude found there has it such that these questions recur in my mind, dancing about in there to some bizarre rhythm akin to an African rain dance, except the only response they manage to elicit from the cosmos is a deluge of existential dread. The previously withered flowers of self-doubt and helplessness then usually bloom with new life coloring my vision with the vivid colors of futility and nihilism.
In so far as the few decades of existence I’ve had, I’ve yet to receive an answer from the universe, God, aliens and whoever is out there listening to my countless whys. What keeps my psyche from falling apart is the beauty of the seemingly mundane things in everyday life. The taste of coffee early in the morning, not just the sensation on your palate but the total bodily rush from the caffeine. The taste of a slice of Lasagna when it melts on your tongue, the scent of a girl you fancy.
The paradoxical paradoxes of the profound meaning in mundane meaningless tasks tends to have my mind in a knotted twisty mindfuck, same as this sentence is doing to your brain right now. It’s never so much about over analyzing existence itself than it is about living in the moment and grasping every fleeting wisp of light that shows up and illuminating your inner world with it. Its like sinking your head under the water in a pool, you can detach yourself from all the noise in the world and just focus on the sensation.
Fundamentally, a search for meaning Is utterly meaningless, it’s all a matter of perspective. The same way a person would have nightmares about having a bomb strapped to their back that would explode if they did not run forty miles, yet train with the utmost pride for a marathon says a lot about life. Its infinitely more satisfying to perceive life itself as its own meaning, at the very least life is so much sweeter.