Philosophical Thoughts

One is born to witness one's birth

All the emotions of the human experience are present tonight. The world is full of life, death. We are surrounded by events. The world turns and moves and we are stunned, cold, undaunted, we ignore or want to ignore the forcefulness of the facts. Tonight is like any other night. Tonight, like all of them, is richer in nectar than our entire lives. Everything happens while we blink to avoid the consequent dryness of inert contemplation into the void. That inquisitive nocturnal company is the daughter of the hollow. Everything around us burns. Everything is born and consumed. Some live, others are dying.

Is this night different from any other? It is not. All things are the same or they can be any other, if we do not meet the only day that really matters: one is born to witness one's birth. Everything else is simple events and unwanted harmonies. Art exists without us. Everything has been constituted before we can understand the way it exists. Poor perception of ours, captures everything that surrounds us, leaving reality almost intact. Only when we are careless can we glimpse the interstices, those lines of sacred light. The very origin of the universe. Everything is accidental.

Every day the universe stumbles, it is so slow that it runs into the human being. Arrogance looks at the universe and names the universe, in a sublanguage that can only be annoying. Man cannot speak to the universe The universe is hindered by words and perspectives, it has none. The great caos is existence. The only random thing that exists is the universe, everything else was meticulously manufactured by probability. Everything goes from here to there and people think they have positions. All that is beginning to be something else and there is no remedy, there is a method.

Everything is incredibly unnecessary. Everything is there, it is precisely that which exalts nothingness. Its presence is justified by itself. Nothingness is the only enigma in the universe. As soon as it is stated, it is no longer known what is being talked about. There you can see the difficulties of human language in trying to articulate the universe, which is not the universe. Language is not thought nor thought is language, but just the opposite, things are in themselves and do not need to be apprehended by themselves. We are atoms that instead of aspiring to stones we think of ourselves as mountains.

Everything that does not exist is ridiculous, the rest a triviality. We are a ridiculous concatenation. Solitude is that part of the universe that is nothing because everything is connected. There is anything by itself. There it is quite convenient that nothing really exists. There are many things, countless things, but nothing exists. We are nothing more than a ridiculous concatenation.