or Schopenhauer's Ennui: Part IV
There are no Gods. Of this I'm quite sure. Without our beloved deities, we find ourselves lost in a vast, cold universe.
We were made in the image of it. Both random and insignificant. Yet we evolved to think of ourselves individually and wholly significant, if only to ourselves. And thus, we engage in the grandest delusion of all.
We see patterns and significance in all that we survey. Yet we are no more meaningful than the meanings we observe.
So, we search for truth, and the nature of things; hoping that we find truth to be real enough, so that we might anchor ourselves to it. But in these truths we find no absolute. Each one leads us inexorably, to the search for the next.
And as we seek, we do so from our individual vantage points. Separate from the very thing we observe.
From time to time, this search leads us to beauty. When it does, we sit in awe of it, unable to fully comprehend why we might feel this way. In these brief moments, we are without ourselves. We shift closer to the truth of it all; That we are no more separate from the universe, than a leaf is to a tree.
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