As I stare out at the vastness of the ocean stretched before me, seamlessly melting into the cloudy grey of the endless sky above, I am struck by the inescapable fate of being conscious. Being human. Comprehending the miracle of my very existence, which leaves me speechless.
We attempt to explain it, but there are no words. Oh, but we continue to try. We fill textbooks and poem anthologies, we study and explore and photograph. We become experts, we hold summits, and we educate our children.
We take apart our bodies, bone by bone and cell by cell. We search inside our selves for evidence of who we are. What we are. Why we are.
We explore the darkest depths of the ocean and the furthest expanses of space. We climb icy mountains and descend into caves.
We have deep conversations and face the shadows of our mind. We create religion and meaning through rituals and prayer. But we cannot escape the pain of death and destruction.
And so we imagine a fairytale land, up in the sky. Where life becomes stagnant and static instead of constantly flowing through the cycle of death and rebirth. We decide we no longer want to fight for this earth. For the world which we have cursed with anger and strife. We want to escape. Just take us away for all of eternity.
To a place without diversity and no one to challenge our views.
But oh, when you just stop the searching. The meaningless making of meaning. The senseless condemnation of human passion. The crime of extinguishing the light in the eyes of a child innocently exploring the smorgasbord of sensation this world was designed to offer us…. in the name of discipline and obedience.
Oh, then, when your god has been buried on your hill of pretentious holiness. When you have sufficiently mourned his death, you finally see it.
That it was always just this. This life. This world. This earth.
We cannot escape it, and we never will.
But then finally—
I no longer want to.