The Slime of Productivity

It all feels so gross. The slime of productivity, expectancy, and efficiency. It gets all over you, and it doesn't wash off easily.

Finding the Sacred in an Indifferent Universe: Beauty Without God

If there is no God making demands from on high, then we are free. But this freedom shifts responsibility. 

If nothing is dictating how we should live, then we have to figure out how to live on our own. How do we accomplish this?

We must lean into the indifference of the universe with our biology. Despite the fact that the universe has no intrinsic meaning in the absence of God, we are "wired" by evolution to see it as beautiful.

We stand at the Grand Canyon under cloudless blue skies and are mesmerized by millions of years of erosion by the Colorado River. 

We stand in the Redwood Forest — breathing in the healing power of trees — and feel better. 

We stand on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico and watch dolphins swim by. 

We see and understand our world as beautiful, as something awe-inspiring.

Our conscious minds choose to organize the cosmos in a way that is harmonious to our senses. We should ignore cosmic narcissism and lean into harmony and peace in our surroundings. 

The forest, oceans, and mountains become the church of man. Our subjective perception of beauty in an indifferent cosmos is the sacred.

The Encore

The back conforms to the stiff mattress like a corpse in a coffin. Eyes don't move; can't move. Entranced by the galaxy projector's disco lights—hues of pink and blue dance across the heavens of this bedroom. The patterns are so ritualistic that I can hear the beat of tribal drums and chanting cavemen—naked by the shore—gazing in wonder at stars like these. 

My eyes fall shut, and a shaman tip toes across a balance beam between my ears. He whispers, "Avoid the shadows with sleep." In this cacophony of pagan bliss, I don't hear the screams from apartment 14; nor the bullets ricocheting off the windowsill. No, my eyes stay foggy while the lights have their encore to the rhythm of my bathroom faucet...tap, tap, tap.

choir of bullfrogs

symphony of insects

I am silent

Conscious for 76 Years, Existent for Eternity

We all had one father and one mother. Genetically, we are them and they are us. They are our past lives because we came from them. In some sense, we are a rebirth of them, though we are not conscious of any of their life experiences.

And when our lives are over, our bodies return to the interconnected web of the universe. Our bodies change form — perhaps to the soil, then to the worm, then to the bird, and then to a person again — though we are not conscious of any of this.

That's the thing about existence. Our entire universe is what we experience. Our awareness of this experience lasts only 76 years on average, but we will exist for eternity, just unaware.

The beauty of life is the time that we get to be conscious of it. The horror of life is knowing that it won't last. How we deal with the anxiety as the finish line creeps up on us will define us.

Knowing that this end is real, and not sugar-coating it with promises of a conscious afterlife for which we have no evidence, is how you prepare for death — which is also how you prepare to live. 

Savoring the Present: Finding Meaning on the Edge of Non-Being

When I walk through a neighborhood I'm struck by the polarity of being and non-being.  All these homes were built to house people; presumably they were meant for families.  

I pass a new house.  It seems to be full of possibilities.  The kind of place you'd imagine children and young couples.  

A little further you come across an older home with a construction crew onsite.  The home is being remodeled.  Many families have come and gone in this house.  It is being updated, so that it can begin again.

Towards the end of the street I come to an old dilapidated house.  The weeds have grown up all around the front yard—obscuring the porch, windows, and doors.  The roof has caved in and a tree has fallen on the back patio.  The paint is chipped and faded.  The wood along the trim is rotten.  There are no families here, only an empty shell where memories were once made.

Families, much like the homes that house them, come and go.  The people start out new, grow old, and end up empty shells—their identities lost to eternity.  

They leave artifacts behind.  With communities remembering their legacies for a time.  Influence may out live them, but in the end this is all temporary.  Even legacies fade into oblivion.  

And much like the old house I stand in front of, I will eventually fade into obscurity.  I will be absorbed by the earth that I once walked upon.  I will fade into non-being.

How do I come to grips with being in a state that is inching towards non-being?

All I can do is savor each inch as it passes in front of me.  This is the marrow of existence.  The art of becoming.  

I am always changing into something else.  This is why I must acknowledge the present moment as the only true reality.  If I don't I will miss the seasons as they change on this long walk through life.

I must acknowledge the interconnected nature of everything.  This is the true freedom.