Stuff I like Part 34 We are meat

The lives we have, the recognition of self which we so pride ourselves on, is not a blessing, but a curse. No one comes back from death, and therefore to comfort our fragile “souls” we create fictions. The animals and insects we share this world with simply exist without questioning why. The human heart is a troubling organ, it takes too much credit for the direction and illusion of our lives. It is only a chunk of muscle, a pump to distribute blood throughout the body. How does it know to ache when we set our eyes on a beautiful woman? The brain is the worst offender, the engine of deception that interprets the world through a very narrow filter. I see no indication of a soul in its spongy mass. Do you? You would think that somewhere inside the human body there would be a soul organ of some sort. It begins as both nothing and everything. An infinite totality of all, but without form and substance. And then there simply is. And then there is more. It grows, this beast called creation, in its desire to consume, to expand, it grows, consuming the insubstantial, fueling the engine of its expansion. It is the ultimate irony, that in order to exist, creation needs to destroy. In the growth of every cell, the movement of every molecule, the binding force of every atom. It is heavy beyond measure, light beyond imagining. We are small, vast,wise, innocent, ancient and new. We are an ocean, but do not drown, we am, we am. Maybe I just need a cocktail of serotonin, neurontin and lysergic acid diethylamide to loosen my neural pathways, who knows. I certainly don’t.