As far as I can work out, life is actually a sort of dream written in some hyperspatial dimension outside of time that you can only view in its entirely upon death…. well, my metaphysics may not be perfectly sound there but that's not the point. The point is that life is not what it seems to be: accidental. It's all heavily scripted and most of the choices you make are illusory. I notice that no matter how I struggle and veer, I am always stuck with a very particular set of problems surrounding the relations of certain recurring characters that embody certain moral truths. The tests are always the same, no matter how they are projected onto others. And I keep failing the test. I'm stuck in it as if I'm being punished.
It can go on for years sometimes- the light seemingly just around the corner when suddenly you realize all progress was a delusion and nothing has changed, the situations are just as sticky, the set of problems inside you and around you are immutable. Lots of work, all in vain. Sisyphus as the foundational myth of human existence. Desolation. Exhaustion. Hopelesness. So depressing, I know… what, you never feel these things??
It's just so disappointing to feel that the franco-existentialist view of life is the most accurate one. I never see it that way for long- life cranks up again and I march again to the beat of ideals and hope in a better life, an improved self with a more perfect heart learning to love more fully. But the inevitable sense of feeling trapped inside a tragedy returns, always with a much more devastating sense of clarity than what I felt in the interim. Am I depressed? Or is this really how it is? The question plagues me daily. I resist it but it feels like the truth. At least, it feels the same way it feels when you know, deep down, that you are resisting the truth.
No comments:
Post a Comment