Why do we feel life is an endlessly boring loop of days crashing into days, indistinguishable from each other? One- two- three- four, as a troop marching in lock step, as a faceless crowd shuffling along a crowded sidewalk, as gray nameless workers trudging into the factories, as if days were marking time to our inevitable end? Why do we feel that some "thing", or some "one" will provide the answers and everything will be alright? "We" hold the only answer.
Why this? Why do we feel this, act this, do this? Modern psychology can find patterns of human behavior, psychiatry can find dozens of maddening theories for individual behavior, but no research measurement can explain why we think the way we do. We are overly complicated organisms, far beyond the daily needs of our hunter-gatherer pre-history. We have modern machinery to perform our most thankless tasks, provide our meals, transportation, and comforts. We are no longer slaves to the animalist fight or flight syndrome. So we think, and we dream philosophies. We see the stars, we reach for the stars. There is nothing left to conquer.
Nothing to conquer but ourselves. We invent gods and demons to guide us. We invent stories to instruct us, we invent knowledge to inform us, we invent ourselves to fulfill us. Life is somewhere between two metaphysical planes of nothingness. We experience time between birth and death, that is all. How we relate to this experience is what we do. As if life were a train trip between borders...Our ticket allows us to sit at a window watching the scenery, or enjoying the ride by seeing other things on the train itself. We can walk along the aisles and corridors, visiting the other travelers, seeing other coaches and berths, watching the conductors and engineers work the train's machinery. We can fill our lives with these travels and travelers, finding our joy and happiness in the journey.
For the destination arrives much to early- and the ride is over...
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