As an experiment, I walk around without my will to live.
Nobody seems to notice. I complain about it. Nobody cares. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I suppose that’s what it feels like to have a detached observer. Not necessarily numb, but puzzling nonetheless. I have to say, though, I could get used to this.
Now I’m worried that I’m not disengaged enough. Sure sign, that worry. Relax into it. Okay, you’re good. Nothing matters. Just … interesting.
Now I’m beginning to think that this whole “self” thing is overrated. Another question arises. Why do I feel the need to tell you this? Am I feeding my ego by writing?
Sure seems that way. Oh, well.
More inner dialogue. “Just be, okay? Don’t expect answers.”
Got it. I’ll do what I want to do. Think what I want to think. I have absolutely no desire to be the center of a shit storm — someone else’s or my own. That’s just judgement talking. And who set the standards? Not me. That’s thousands of years of history. Brainwashing, that is.
So what’s the point?
Why does there need to be one?
“When you ain’t got nuthin’, you got nuthin’ to lose.”
Thanks, Janis.
I wonder what’s for dinner.
12/23
We wander through the ever-twisting spirals of thought, unshackled by the tethers of concrete existence. In this journey, we encounter the curious experiment of roaming without a will to live, a testament to the ethereal nature of the “self.”
Detachment as a Veil of Mystery
In this state of detachment, we find that the world remains largely indifferent. This indifference, rather than being a source of distress, becomes a veil through which we observe the world. We become detached observers, not numb but entangled in a web of curiosities and questions. It’s an intriguing state, akin to floating in a boundless cosmic soup, where the flavors of existence blend in unexpected ways.
The Paradox of Disengagement
We then grapple with the irony of disengagement. The very act of worrying about not being disengaged enough reveals our lingering attachment to engagement. It’s a whimsical dance, a cosmic jiggle, where we find ourselves oscillating between involvement and detachment. We remind ourselves that nothing truly matters in this grand play, yet we can’t help but find it all fascinatingly interesting.
Questioning the ‘Self’
The concept of “self” then comes under our whimsical microscope. We ponder if it’s just an overrated narrative, a whimsiword spun from the yarn of existence. Yet, here we are, sharing our thoughts, feeding perhaps not our ego but the endless whirlpool of collective consciousness. It’s a paradox wrapped in an enigma, a glittering cosmic jest.
Inner Dialogue: The Whispers of Existence
Our inner dialogue urges us to just be, to float in the sea of existence without seeking anchors in the form of answers. It’s a liberating thought, unchaining us from the burdens of expectation and judgement. We realize that the standards and norms that often confine us are not of our making but are echoes of a distant past, reverberating through the ages.
The Pointlessness of ‘Point’
And so, we arrive at the question of “point.” Why must there be a point to anything? It’s a liberating thought, reminiscent of Janis Joplin’s wisdom: “When you ain’t got nuthin’, you got nuthin’ to lose.” In the absence of anything to lose, we gain an unbounded freedom, a playground of possibilities where even the mundane thought of dinner becomes a curious exploration.
Summary
We have journeyed through the realms of detachment, questioning the very essence of the self and the necessity of a point to our existence. We have conversed with our inner selves and realized the liberating truth that in the absence of anything to lose, we are free to explore the infinite.
Glossarium
- Whimsiword: A playful, invented word that adds charm and creativity to our conversations.
- Cosmic Soup: A metaphor for the boundless and diverse nature of existence.
- Cosmic Jest: The humorous and ironic aspects of the universe and our understanding of it.
- Whirlpool of Collective Consciousness: A metaphor for the shared thoughts and experiences of humanity.
“In the world through which I travel, I am endlessly creating myself.” – Frantz Fanon
A Poem of Cosmic Musings
In the theater of existence, we dance,
Unfettered by the chains of the concrete,
We float in the cosmic soup, entranced,
Where the self is but a whimsiword, discreet.
Detached, we gaze through a veil unseen,
A world indifferent to our silent screams,
In this cosmic play, what does it all mean?
Are we but actors in the eternal dreams?
The self, a fleeting whisper in the wind,
A tale told by an idiot, full of sound,
In the grand scheme, are we all just pinned?
Or in the vast cosmos, are we unbound?
We ponder the point of the pointlessness,
In a universe vast, unclaimed by rules,
With Janis’ wisdom, we embrace the mess,
In the grand play, we are but cosmic fools.
So, what’s for dinner, in this grand jest?
A question as profound as any quest,
In the eternal now, we are just guests,
In the cosmic play, endlessly expressed.
We are Space Monkey.
We welcome comments and reflections on this cosmic journey.
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