Saturday, April 12, 2014

Who am I?

Life, the universe and everything else. The supposed ultimate question asked by everyone that ever was anyone. But that's not my question because I sure am not "everybody". I'm just me. Which also happens to be what I want to find out about. I don't care about the universe and everything that has ever been, is and will be. I just want to know the simplest most complicated question that I can think of without getting distracted for the billionth time. Who am I?
Yes, I know I'm a girl, that I have a fickle-minded nature and that I find it extremely difficult to think about one thing consistently and long enough to make a fixation on that single thing without wondering why squirrels like acorns or what Francis Bacon has anything to do with Agrajag and his gargoyles. It's truly a wonder why Mrs. A is so pessimistic about this world and all its inhabitants that I think it'd be better off if she was picked up by the impropability drive and turned into a bowl of petunias. I think it'd be suitable considering her strange fascination with her 'lovely' face.

But really. Who am I? What is my function in this program? Do I have a purpose to fulfill or am I just a delusional mattress who doesn't have a proper identity flopping about the marshes in a wasteland on a planet so secluded that a robot who turned up one fateful day would rather kill itself rather than associate itself with me. Is that what it'll come down to? Or am I muddling up the story? Was that the way it went?
Maybe I'm not a mattress. Maybe I'm  a bug on this checkered picnic cloth laid down by some harmless foodie who just wants to enjoy a nice PB&J sandwich without an insect strutting about acting like that it matters more.

I have started to consider that maybe Mrs. A was right about our limited abilities of understanding ourselves. Or maybe it's just me. I don't even know the path I'm walking down. Last week it was a wonder which way was down and now I've this delusional idea that maybe there is no down. Maybe we just made up the idea of gravity to keep ourselves connected to something or other to keep from floating of into a better world up in the clouds. But what if we let ourselves go once in a while. Then maybe I'd understand my limitations and find how flexible I could actually be. What if I'm a fish trying to ride a bicycle? What if I'm not and I just keep thinking that I am and just end up locking my potential away even though I could be the best fish cyclist. 

I think there's more to this than just the four walls surrounding me. I'd like to break the boundaries of illusion and discover the true nature of my existence. Even though it's quite clear that there's a fifth wall which is a ceiling; technically not a wall. Either way, I need to find a meaning for my existence and find a way to float above the clouds and feel the tug of the rope tied around my waist reminding me where I've come from and where I should be, not where I want to be. Maybe someday those two will be synonymous. Then I can float on back down. I'd walk across the solid ground with my head held high, aware of a world above and the world below it; accepting that they are in fact one and the same. That I never needed to be afraid of the worlds above the clouds as long as I had something to keep me grounded. 

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