There's no sight,
Where I exist.
For this realm is tangential.
It's the realm of truth,
Beyond the mundane of life,
Where all paradoxes become singular,
And singularity itself is the realm.
Here I am we,
And we are me.
All colors, fused into a black hole,
Emit a blinding light.
There's no physical space, no time;
Yet an infinite continuum,
Of everything and nothing,
Of life and death,
Of zero and infinity.
Is zero infinite, or does infinity merge into zero?
This is the goal,
We reach through life.
All goals are the same,
For some paths tie directly to this goal,
But if you don't stop motion,
The path leads back to another path,
Others twist and turn to leave bends behind.
These bends are what guide the travelers here,
For a straight line would never reach its end,
Like a circle would.
When our faces are carved,
On the wall of death;
Lying between these realms,
Shifting shapes to bend along the bent paths,
The senses cease to exist.
There's no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell.
But the sixth, remains.
The sense of the sensibility brought forth by existence.
This sense is but that compass that guides us along the paths,
And when along comes this wall of death,
It freezes into itself,
Bearing the mark of existence.
These marks are what make the wall,
They're both the brick and the face on the brick.
Sometimes bearing the agony of fear,
The pains of a dissatisfied life.
Sometimes bearing the serenity of love,
The love for creation birthed into existence.
And sometimes the stoicism,
Of an observer, a life lived.
Beyond the wall lies nothing,
Before the wall lies nothing,
Yet before the wall,
everything comes before nothing,
And existence is spent solving for everything,
For everything, once solved is nothing.
If we could see these faces on death's walls,
Maybe everything would have been solved for,
But there still remains the wall.
I've reached this side,
I'm yet to choose where this path ends,
For have I closed the circle yet?
For when you die, do you truly want to un-exist?
Existence and life, almost synonyms;
Separate only in character,
One singular in nature,
Standing beyond the individual,
Merging into the collective concepts,
Driving this collective forth;
Birthing a new wave of collective;
Eternal, till it's purpose is served,
A Historic, revered truth post.
The other born of the collective,
Restrained to a mere concept.
A generic, communal nature,
Easy to understand,
Easier to live,
Merging the individual with the collective,
Into a mere blur of oneness.
Mortal by definition,
Rigid, yet varied in design,
A fact based on statistics,
A concept, more than a truth.
Yet leaves life behind.
I was thinking about existentialism when a possibility of this interplay between existence and life came to me. For once we're dead, what do we leave behind?
Only character can survive death. Character is both an individual and a collective concept, and collective character is the mark of existence, the character in concepts, thoughts and actions. How many of us are creating an imprint, that will survive us, survive the mortal realm. That will live, once we stop existing. Existence morphs into life once complete.
Life cannot be undermined either, for existence lives on because of life. The singular, can only live on if integrated with collective, for nothing survives in isolation.
In essence, existence without a core of life, will cease to live once complete. Life is far less complicated. There's also an element of choice that interplays here. For life happens to us, and existence is what we create. And when we cannot create, we face a crisis.
For what would our purpose be, if not to be in the image of our creator, if not to be creationists?
I'm frequently doing Monday Motivations (on Instagram - check out if you haven't yet), but today, I decided to do a Friday Foresight just so we could break the rut of the weekday-weekend conundrum and put our free minds to work over the weekend, and create!
For we have lived so far, but can we spark existence?