hopelesshappiness.com

Ticking clock. Can't open my eyes. Stuck somewhere. Dream? Clocks don't tick. Bombs don't tick. Digital world. Time is artificial. Humanity has become. Man-made. I feel deep; in a hole. Subterranean. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Flat. No echo. Eyes closed? Or no light? Must be sleep; otherwise, I would move my arms; feel my eyes; lids. I've read books; seen movies. The dream is real. The world, an illusion. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Can't speak. Can't scream. A sense. Not foreboding; exactly. More like resignation. Or retirement. Forced? Not abandonment; or banishment. Not giving in; or up. Understanding? Maybe; yes; close. Not Truth. Reality. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Peace? No. Not yet. Not ever? Tick. Tick. Crawling; up my arm. Just. Beneath. The surface. I want to ask. Not why. Not how. What is Who; and When is nonsense; not questions. That leaves where. I want to ask Where. I want to emphasize I; not Where. I may not be. Yet I must be. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. If I am not? Where is wandering; lost and aimless. If I could see. If I could touch. Weightless. But no. Physical stupor. Excess gravity. Somnolent clarity. To question; not my existence; but rather, the existence of me. Yesterday; survival. Today; questions. Tomorrow? Enlightenment? No. Too soon. Maybe next week. Or next month. Or never. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tomorrow; reality; and survival. Parasomnia. Choices. To sleep; dreamless. To remain, on the cusp; helpless. To wake; guileless; powerless; defenseless. Ain't nothin' but a party. Bacon-Double please. Tick. Tick; tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Lost. Not existence. Me. To me. Lost. Found? No. Perhaps. Lost is found; found is lost. Thoughts; pinging. Making sparks. Random. Like, rubbing my eyes. Yet I can't. Still prostrate; restrained; vulnerable. No illumination. No shape. No form. Tick. If I could choose; I would. Not to see. To be seen. Not to feel. To be felt. Not to hear; beyond. Tick. Tick. Tick. To be heard. Not to wake. To be awakened. Roused. Stirred. Vivified. Tick; tick. Syncopation. Coherence. Difficult. Effort. To string words. Sentences. Imprisoned. To stay. Sidetracked. This is about me. If. If not. It is about; where. Focus. FOCUS! I am not asleep. Perhaps, I am in-between. That would mean, I should wake soon. To what? No. To where? And will I be there? Or. Am I truly, no more? Thought constructs. Can a thing? Assembled? In the mind? Be no more? If it never was? Existence was tangible before me. Existence will remain after me. My existence is tangible. Concrete. Meaningful. In context. Yet, I am inconsequential. I am a fabrication. I can live with that. But will I? Or will I; continue to insist; that my existence; constitutes; meaning; beyond; my existence? Tick; tick. I am sharper. More coherent. Perhaps I am becoming. More fully; awake. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Have I been, bogged down? By a delusion? Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. I am bogged down; by solitude. Lonely truthfulness? False comfort? Choices. Anger. I should not be angered. Communal prescience. Contradiction. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Anger. Sorrow. Determination. Survival. I think. Therefore I am. Therefore I think I am. Thus constructing delusional complexity. I exist. Stop. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. I exist. Stop. Is the simplicity of existence, enough? It appears. It is not. A shroud of widespread superficiality conceals subterranean realities. Tick. Tick. Pain. Is ownership a myth? In this moment; on the cusp; I feel; I have nothing. To attain. To retain. Hard work. For what? Perhaps; for the sake; of hard work. Perhaps; I own; my effort. Only. After the fact. The moment, is mutual. Nice thoughts. Constructs? Fabrication? Unnecessary complexity? Perhaps. All there is; is the moment. Do thoughts exist, in the moment? Or, do thoughts merely, define a moment? If the latter---(this is difficult)---then, does the moment exist? Or, is it also a construct? If the moment exists; only, in the moment; then, all else is fabrication. Perhaps. The only reality; is deep; in a hole. Subterranean. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Perhaps. My existence. Flat. No echo. No shape. No form. No shadow. No illumination. Deep. In a hole. Subterranean. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Perhaps. That is okay. Simplify. Contribute. Know. Uncertainty. Embrace. Productivity. Infinitesimal. Significant. Contradictions. Choices. Tick. Tick. Tick. I will wake soon. I will choose. Moment-by-moment. My existence. The existence of me. Hardship. Security. I will wake soon. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Deep. Closer to; reality. Wakefulness. Rising to the surface. No. Not yet. How to remember? Wakefulness clouds clarity. Engagement distracts. Seduction. Betrayal. To be led astray. Yet, productivity requires engaged discourse. Dilemma. It is. It is, regrettable, that we cannot meet here. In-between. On the cusp. Deep. In a hole. Subterranean. Shared somnolent clarity. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Resting. Preparing. Tick; tick. Tick. I exist. Stop. I choose. Stop. Determination. Survival. Productivity. Stop. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick...

This morning, I woke up angry. I showered angry. I walked to work angry. I logged on to my computer angry. I yelled inside my head that conversations today were on a needs-only basis, because I was angry!!!

...Then someone said, "Good Morning."

...And I forgot I was angry.

Damn It!

Why do people have to rain pleasantries down upon my anger? Now a perfectly good opportunity to harden my arteries has been diminished. I worked all night to build up to that level of anger, and "Poof"---with one bumbleheaded, humdrum courtesy, I smiled.

Maybe it's not too late. Perhaps I can build it back up. With a little effort---(sometimes, very little)---I can think of many justifications for anger, but I can't remember the specific thought or incident, (if there was one), that ignited last night's escalation. What I do recall, doesn't seem to be that big of a deal now, so I must be missing something. Or perhaps I just woke up angry. Oh well. I am confident I can find another spark.

...that is, if I can get past this ill-timed, thoughtless inanity just uttered in passing! And to what end? Does she feel better because (forgetting myself), I smiled and responded in kind? Does she think I am honored by her offering of kind words? Surely all social grace is not gratuitous. She sounded sincere, but we barely know each other. I understand civility, but does it have to be so damned cheerful? I see cheerful social civility as wanton, approaching obscene. I see unsolicited affability as unrecognized untruth. I see deference and gallantry as demeaning and grotesque.

...Or perhaps I have just rediscovered my anger.

...And now look! Someone else just passed by and didn't say a word! Am I too far below her station to be spoken to? She must be Royalty of some sort...

This day, so far, is unbelievably maddening. The first person I see speaks to me, then the next one doesn't. Next thing you know someone will probably ask after the well-being of my family...

...Or not.

...And either way, I am confident that they will do so in a manner that offends.

It's good to have a driver...

Last week I wrote a brief history of humanity, placing it on a scale that approximates a present-day life span of 70 years. On this scale, my personal Lifetime will likely account for somewhere between 5 and 8 hours. This realization coupled with the fact that there are more people on this planet---(at this moment, 7,375,390,008)---than ever before certainly steers one toward nihilistic thought. How does one overcome this seeming futility of existence? Denial / deliberate ignorance? Delusional ignorance? Voluntary indoctrination? Involuntary indoctrination? Busyness? Productivity? Attachment? Perhaps these (and other) methods of creating or finding meaning and purpose are essentially the same. Perhaps the more pertinent question is: Is Purpose Meaningless?

Near the end of "MacBeth," William Shakespeare nicely encapsulates this nihilistic thought:

"Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing."

In this moment, I do not believe "Purpose" is meaningless. But I do believe we must ask nihilistic questions, and we must face the possibility of nothingness. To do otherwise is incomplete. Eight weeks ago, I wrote of the wondrous futility of Life. An excerpt is below:

"...Futile is a very strong word; and in the narrow context of self-centered individual purpose, it is exactly the right word. If I work to save myself, I will ultimately disregard the world, and this effort will in no way significantly-delay or prevent the inevitable end of my earthly days; therefore I cannot work to save myself. But if I work to save the world, (the world that has an opportunity to continue beyond me), I believe that there is a chance that I might (perhaps accidentally) save myself along the way. Of course it is pretentious and preposterous for me to think that I may save the world---but it gives me purpose."

For me, to thoughtfully work for future generations is a manageable and active transcendence. I will not sit and wait for meaning beyond this Life; I will leave my meaning behind, in words and actions that have the potential to live beyond my physical existence. I will prepare for the possibility of nothing, knowing that if nothing is waiting, I have nothing to fear. In the active effort to learn from the past, and live in the moment, for the future, I realize that transcendence resides in the future, so I must work in the moment. Transcendence will wait for me; I will not wait for transcendence.

Yes; to an extent, these last paragraphs are a pep talk. To be beneficially productive, one must be a) active, b) thoughtfully rational, c) open to all possibility, and d) in the moment. To fulfill purpose, one must be productive. So, perhaps my purpose is to be beneficially productive in whatever I do. And perhaps (in this moment) I need this reminder.

I began this week's thoughts with the realization that I am only 1 of (probably) more than 100 billion people who have ever lived, and I am alive (if I live to 91) only 1 part in 10 billion parts of human existence. With these numbers, when I measure my impact it comes to (if my math is correct) only 0.000000000000000000013 percent; so far. As time moves on, this impact will only grow smaller.  This tells me two things: 1) I must make the most of this opportunity; and 2) I am a part of something much, much bigger than myself. Instead of becoming overwhelmed and giving up, these thoughts should encourage me to work harder, because I AM part of something.

I may not yet know with any certainty just what I am part of, but I am part of something; and I think that what too many of us don't understand is that as a part of something, I should take an interest in the whole, and I should not miscount, lose sight of, discount, or misplace zeroes in order to see this infinitesimal impact as larger than it is. I should not inflate my own importance, nor undervalue another's. And, just as I do not (and, at times, cannot) ignore parts of my body asking (or sometimes screaming) for attention, I should not choose to ignore, avoid, neglect, or disdain portions of humanity. Yet we do just that---every day.

Throughout our history divisiveness and territoriality were often essential for survival. Today divisiveness is no longer beneficially productive, but the instinct remains. Couple this instinct for opposition with  the numbers that show infinitesimal impact and we are inclined to seek security and comfort in smaller groups with fewer zeroes. So, by acknowledging nihilism, we may have created overwhelming feelings of inconsequentiality, thus perpetuating destructive or (at the least) nonproductive separation for the sake of a little comfort. Somehow we must learn to interpret these numbers rationally instead of instinctively, we must learn the value of discomfort, and we must learn to live as a small part of a much bigger whole. Though my thoughts this week have felt a little disjointed and muddy, (perhaps because of the dramatic disparity between my objective impact and my unrealistic expectations), I have made an effort to justify effort.

As I face the long string of zeroes that precedes my personal percentage impact, I can find an active comfort and peace through beneficial productivity. If I actively consider the whole, (in each moment), and if I strongly believe that I must do my part, I have faith that I can productively work my way past, and then start my way back through, those nineteen zeroes.

If we place human divergence / origination some 7,000,000 years ago, and if we assume (by rounding) a human life span of 70 years, then the math becomes easy to follow when we look at human history on a life span timeline.

I am humanity. I was born a millisecond after midnight on January 1. I spent the first 45 years of my life simply surviving. Life was day-to-day, and most days moment-to-moment. I stayed in the same place and I was entirely dependent upon wild foods, (plant and animal), for my subsistence. It is difficult to offer a cogent description of this period, perhaps because during this time I had no verbal abilities at all. My memories are fleeting and vague at best, and  with no documentation and very few artifacts that could jog my memory, I am unable to find the words.

It was somewhere between the ages of 45 and 50 that I do remember making intentional grunts, snorts, and squawks. These purposeful sounds coupled with deliberate gesticulations, for the first time, gave me meaningful, productive communication. It was also during this same time that I discovered the utility of certain-shaped stones for digging, smashing, grinding, and killing. By my 55th birthday I had learned how to form and shape some of these stones, and even attached some to strong wood, in order to increase their effectiveness.

At the age of 60 I began to wander. In my travels, I have found many different climates and terrains, and I have adapted accordingly.

At the age of 65 I began early attempts to control fire for warmth, and began experimenting with it in food preparation. This process involved considerable trial and error, but having eaten the tasty burnt flesh left behind by the occasional spontaneous forest fire, I was determined to succeed. Then about a year-and-a-half ago I had refined this skill with fire to a point where it also aided in the formation and shaping of my stone tools.

Just over a year ago I discovered pigment, made a shell bead necklace, dabbled in commerce and trade, and began to think thoughts that for the first time were unrelated to day-to-day survival. It was also shortly before and during this time that my verbal skills began to improve; and I believe that my new-found interest in art, adornment, and the formation of mutually beneficial alliances was directly attributable to these strides and leaps in information exchange.

About six months ago I learned to count, I discovered Gods, I began making my own clothes, I found enjoyment in (first) the sounds of nature, and then began creating my own rhythm and harmony, and I greatly improved my hunting skills. And then,  about four months ago, I began painting in earnest; mostly, at this time, on cave walls.

It was just about four to five weeks ago that I began farming, and at the same time I began domesticating some animals such as the dog, sheep, goat, and pig. Three weeks ago I not only began producing metal tools and attaching wheels to modes of conveyance, but I also managed to corral the cow; and a week later I reined in the horse, donkey, water buffalo, llama, and camel. Oh... I almost forgot... As I settled into farming and ranching, I also learned how to write and cipher, and I came up with the first calendar.

And that brings us to this past couple of weeks...

Two weeks ago, after nearly six months of spiritual contemplation, I found Judaism. Nine or ten days ago I discovered Buddhism, Confucianism, Hinduism, and Taoism; and a week ago today I found Christianity. It has been a lot to take in, in a short period of time; and I have many, many questions. We will save those for another time. First I want to talk about this past week; it has probably been the busiest week of my life.

As I write this sentence, it is approaching midnight on Sunday, December 31. In a few minutes I will turn 70 years old.

Just this past Monday I stayed very busy with advances in science, art, architecture, and hieroglyphics, but I did find time to uncover negative numbers, devise a method of woodblock printing, give life to lawyers, and I established the City of Constantinople.

Very early Tuesday morning I designed and constructed a crank and connecting rod to aid in a sawmill in the Roman Empire. I then found some South Pacific Islands, sacked Rome, and spent the rest of the day in my workshop inventing the fishing reel, the paddle wheel boat, stirrups, street lights, and toilet paper. On Tuesday I was tinkering, and I did not realize just how much time I would soon be spending in my workshop.

On Wednesday, the most significant thing to come from my workshop was gunpowder. I also uncovered algebra and the number zero, found Greenland, established the banknote, and took a short vacation in Mesoamerica, visiting several thriving Mayan Cities. In my free time I composed the original Gregorian Chants.

On Thursday morning I devised a system of musical notation, I composed an early Christmas carol, I wrote 2 epic poems ("Beowulf" and "The Song of Roland") and the world's first novel ("The Tale of Genji"), and in my workshop, I invented fireworks and the first gunpowder weapons. Thursday afternoon I began construction on a cathedral in Pisa, and on the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, I paved some streets in Paris, I founded the School of Oxford, I contrived an early, primitive movable type system in China, and I invented the wet compass for sea navigation.

Very early Friday morning I saw Venice, Paris, Milan, and Florence reach all-time highs of around 80,000 people each, leading all European cities in population. As the day progressed, I made acquaintance with Genghis Khan (and a few of his descendants), Marco Polo, Thomas Aquinas, and Joan of Arc. I saw 25 million people die of bubonic plague, and I established public banks. I invented eyeglasses, land mines and fragmentation bombs, and most notably, (very late in the day), I invented the printing press.  I also wrote "The Canterbury Tales" and "The Divine Comedy," and I began and ended a tedious one-hundred year war.

Yesterday I invented the parachute, the telescope, the thermometer, the barometer, a mechanical calculator, ice cream and the piano. I also brought slaves to America, established the first newspaper, and instituted the practice of castration to preserve high male singing voices. In addition, I composed thousands of concertos, I wrote too many plays and books to count (including "Romeo and Juliet" and "Paradise Lost"), and I finished painting the Sistine Chapel. I learned that the Earth revolves around the Sun; I chased some French Huguenots to and then from Rio de Janeiro; while in Brazil, I planted coffee; back in France, I executed another 20,000 French Huguenots; I burned Atheists and Witches; and I settled New Orleans and almost immediately had to begin building levees.

Today I am still building levees in New Orleans. Early this morning I wrote "Candide," composed "The Marriage of Figaro" and "Don Giovanni," and I invented the spinning jenny, the steam engine, the steamboat, a dental drill powered by a foot pedal, and the cotton gin. I also established a trading post that would one day grow into St. Louis, and I started two revolutions.

Before noon I started a civil war. I composed "Symphony No. 5" and "Swan Lake," I wrote "Frankenstein" and "Don Juan," and later in the morning I wrote "Jane Eyre," "The Scarlet Letter," Moby Dick," "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and "Leaves of Grass." I invented dynamite, the telegraph, the metal detector, scotch tape, the gasoline engine,  plastic, and the telephone. I took a hurried trip to California, established the New York Philharmonic, discovered cholesterol, and I met Charles Darwin.

Early this afternoon I invented the phonograph, the light bulb, the machine gun, cornflakes, the first gas-powered automobile, the zipper, and the airplane. I saw the first television broadcast, I composed "The 1812 Overture," and I established the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the London Philharmonic, and the Berlin Philharmonic. I opened the Orient Express, I investigated serial killings in London, and I found some time to take in the first-ever World Series.

This evening I saw two World Wars. I wrote "The Great Gatsby, "A Farewell To Arms," and "The Sound and the Fury," and I enjoyed the Swing Era and the debut of the electric guitar. In my workshop, I built an atomic bomb. I discovered penicillin, I listened to a radio broadcast about a Martian invasion, I kidnapped a baby, and I lost Amelia Earhart.

Earlier tonight: LP records; Korean War; the first atomic submarine; solar power; Elvis emerged; the first personal computer; the laser; space exploration; the Vietnam War; Beatlemania; Sesame Street; the pocket calculator; VHS; Roe v. Wade; punk rock; disco; Elvis leaves the building.

At 9:17 pm I made available the first commercial cell phone. At 9:49 pm I introduced the World Wide Web to the general public. At 10:25 pm I invented an optical disc storage format known as the DVD. An hour and fifteen minutes ago, at 10:45 pm, I commandeered two passenger planes and destroyed the twin towers in New York City.  Sixty-one minutes ago, at 10:59 pm, I abused and humiliated Iraqi prisoners at Abu Graib prison, and I was outraged over my actions. Fifty-four minutes ago, at 11:06 pm, I began rebuilding levees in New Orleans---again. And between 11:30 pm and 11:32 pm I negligently allowed 3.2 million barrels of oil to pour into the Gulf of Mexico, with devastating effects.

Tomorrow will be another busy day.

If I were to make a request of death, I would respectfully ask that it come too late. Of course death won't be influenced; and if death hears, death laughs. So I must make too-late, now.

There are those who live as if death adds meaning to life only when it comes too late. And there are those who live as if death will never touch them. And there are those who live as if death proves life meaningless, regardless of when it comes.

To live with passive hope exposes one's fear and disrespects life. To live with casual disregard is to be thoughtless, inept, and wasteful. To live actively, with purpose and communal beneficence, creates meaning and brings the brilliance of this moment to bear upon the shades of too-late.

When death comes unbidden, and when one has lived active, personal accomplishment:

• One can see Truth in death.
• One can face death with courage.
• One can face death, still loving life.
• One can see Beauty in death.
• Death comes too late.

Though I cannot speak with any degree of certainty until my personal specter is looming and imminent, these thoughts on death feel right and proper. I have experienced intimations of my own death. And I have suffered loss from the deaths of others; (one friend in this week). But no matter the effort, I am yet unable to know the Beauty, Truth, Courage, and Love that I believe will be found in that bittersweet moment.

I have to believe that my life will define my death. I have to believe that life and death are inseparable, and I have to believe that death without life is insuperable. I have to believe that one must live in order to die.

To face my own personal specter of death is not so different from facing my own personal specter of pain; or adversity; or growth; or change; or uncertainty; or responsibility; or skepticism; or sacrifice; or love. All of these specters (and many, many others) involve varying degrees of suffering. All of these specters (and many, many others) require one to live. In order to live, one must suffer. In order to die, one must live.