The Wolves of Midwinter

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Life's Paradox

In the beginning,
I was bewildered by the
Concepts of the Heaven and the Earth
But mostly, I was scared stiff
Of this voice that spoke within my head
Where was me before this initial awakening?
Is everything so grandiose yet so purposeless only when I think it so?

Whether 12,34,54,76…
I still see everything vaguely
Everything, including myself
Feels like one extensive dream
That I’m only aware of
When detached from this dream of reality

Descartes struggled futilely to distinguish
His place within the membrane of this dream
But finally, he succumbed to the dream’s
Testament of its tangibility
By saying “I think therefore I am!”
He admits that either our surroundings are real
While we’re not
Or, we’re fully aware of ourselves
But deluded by the mystifying visions
Of different interpretations of reality

Often, the feelings of reality are blistering
Then, I can fully find my bearings in one set perception
Only until reality becomes despondent
Then, I begin to reconsider
The actuality of all the things my mind
Believes it is remembering from some
Long-departed scheme of reality

In church, people plaintively beseech
The invincible being of God
Only to rename him as something visible:
His begotten son, Jesus
Because it gives reality greater visibility
Until the ecstasy of a good prayer dissipates and
Leaves us barren

When death encroaches,
Does our contemplation of reality end?
Can we no longer dream of feeling cemented in a true sense of being?
In death, is the nothingness so overwhelming
That nothing depicts it better than
To think of it as the unthinkable
State of Eternal Forgetfulness

Where will it go?
What am I without the illusion of being substantial?
Does my life inevitably cease its feeble crawl towards meaning?
From funerals I've attended, I coldly recall
A sonorous tune played by the organ who
Lamented this paradoxical death
Within a universe that bursts at the seams with
Different scientific theorems which shows
Causation for all things albeit
The source of all this meaning

When we die,
Our brains explode with our theories
Of how we’ll finally conclude
The answer to the perplexing riddle of life
Like stars before death, we’ll increase in size and proportion
With all the memories of our dream-like existence

Then, our brains stop triggering thoughts for ourselves
In our place, our empty bodies become
Black holes for the remainder of humanity
Who hope fervently that within our dead selves there lies
Minute Quantum remnants that will configure
Themselves into a new kind of existence 

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