On perfection

Are we, as fallible humans, doomed only to see glimpses of what perfection ought to be and very little else? Is it really impossible to achieve perfection? Perfection could be defined as the highest state of logical reasoning from which all thoughts and actions are derived. Achieving such a heightened state would mean that anything outside the logical realm becomes superfluous, which seems to entail that any random pleasure or activity and even arts would no longer have a place. As humans, we evolve and grow via many forms of interactions, especially the social form. If one was to imagine a perfected society deriving its strive from logic only it appears difficult to find any appeal in the long run because of that very human fear of losing not just that false sense of individuality that makes you believe that you’re somehow ‘unique’ - which helps you in turn to find your existence somewhat meaningful- but also those more random or meaningless activities that greatly feed on social memes. But then that would be overlooking the crutial flaw in such a thread of thought: the activities themselves or interactions are not those to be focused on, it is the use we make of them that matters. Thus, in a perfected world art and other activities cherished by mankind would still have their place, albeit their rightful place at long last in the sense that they would cease to be random or derived from personal interest and instead working toward achieving a greater purpose. In a perfected society, these activities would no longer be random or chaotic in essence and would be in sync with the ideal of perfection as defined earlier to either strengthen it or simply maintain it. And then I wonder: if such activities could be channelled back to become true means to a greater end, wouldn’t art and many other ‘pastimes’ or ‘callings’ become even greater or achieve greater results than anything ever achieved?

It just seems to me that every single person likes to think of themselves as special or different and that in itself is missing the point completely. There is nothing grand or even remotely exceptional about a person. It seems that only the gathering of such persons into what we call ‘humanity’ could ever qualify as unique or grand. The rest belongs to illusion and self-deception and that is why religion was always the most powerful man-made invention of all times. Because it directly feeds our fear to accept that alone a person means nothing and is as random and pointless as that keybord I’m using to type these words- to which I gave a sense of purpose now for I use it to convey my thoughts onto a screen, and the same goes for a person vs “humanity”.

Nowadays the quality of ‘humanity’ is so greatly diminished by that futile individuality need that it almost breaks my heart to see it and still be able to envision how much greater it could be- yet so few people would have the guts to try and make it so much more perfected. All people are full of is words and promises they can’t even keep and as they all play along all I can hear is noise, constant random noise from every direction. Why listen to what people have to say anymore if they are never to go further than the ranting stage?

To the core of idealism

I ignored the inevitable for so long that while I remained safely in the nest, sheltered from too direct or deep interaction with reality, my mind wasn’t. It kept growing faster than my emotional side. And now my mind seems to expect far greater things than my person can live up to because my emotions are unruly, almost alien to me. The only way I could ever express them is through writing, venting wave after wave of unfathomable pain, regret, bitterness, love and anger. I have simply no perspective as far as that deeper side is concerned. All I do know is that it is very strong, very determined, narrow-minded to favour efficiency and result, and quite ruthless because it no longer cares for individuals but humanity as a whole. I’m beginning to see every person as interchangeable, more or less akin to any other animal having dozens of offsprings and the only way to prove to me that you are beyond such randomness you would have to step up with your own life to achieve a greater purpose: that of striving for the god-like experience and hopefully succeed. Anything else would be trivial in the sense that whatever you ‘choose’ to do with your life can be done by anyone else in your place. Therefore you are not unique, you are not a true individual, you are expandable and interchangeable.

Why the God-like experience? Because it makes sense. Once you reject religion in all form and shape, you let go of crutches and morals instilled in you without giving you a chance to ever be able to reflect on them objectively. Then, as you reject all, there is a void, an emptiness. You get to a very dark place where there is simply nothing left. To reach for truth or what ought to be, even in the hope of finding a higher plane or being, the only way would be to strive to reach up for that ideal or sense you have in you. How else can you reach a ‘god’ if you, yourself, don’t attempt to step up to its realm? So far, religion has always alluded to the idea that gods were perfection and that we were forever imperfect, therefore bound to remain pawns or guilt-ridden creatures of doom. Either you remain safely nestled in the illusion of religion or you follow logic to the end and as you turn away from such notions as religion you must be able to see the argument through to the end. Otherwise you’re an idiot. You’re worse than the friend who blindly believes in whatever god he was conditioned to worship and fear.

Why? Because you are the one boasting to have rejected religion but unless you come to the conclusion that men can then transcend the ideal of god to become their own gods -their own strive to perfection- you’re nothing but a fraud. A coward too afraid to face their own true self. I’m afraid, too. I’m scared every day, every second of my life, but then I am really human: while I feel emotions, I do not let them govern me. I ensure that whatever it is I feel will only serve to make me stronger, higher.

illusions

11/08/08

All that is real cannot complete me, all that is but a dream is also out of reach. I am an illusion or fantasy trapped in a reality-bound body. It does not define my worth or talents, it can only explain the constant sorrow, the deep sense of loneliness amplified even further among others. So in my mind I reach out for love and all that is ideal and perfect, in reality I am confronted with cold materiality and fallible people just like me. I am stubborn and refuse to give in to the world only because part of me is so arrogant...or foolish? I search for purity and enlightenement, but am I worthy enough to find them? Of course not. What would be the odds? Every time I am reminded in real life of the existence of love, which is solely a poor substitute for what we truly need, the pain intensifies so much more than I can bear. Yet I bear it, I do. I wait until the sweet bitterness fades, as it always does in the end- until the next time.

Whatever we do in this life it will never be complete. A family is perhaps the most rewarding path. It leads you back closer to nature and nature is a healer. Did I ever make the conscious choice to run away from nature, from what ought to be, from what is simplest? In such a case it would explain how I happen to truly enjoy the simplest things I see- the trees, the skies, the lights and fading days... I enjoy them so much, as though I felt so far away from them, as though I had somehow lost them... And perhaps I have, hence my fascination to watch them with child-like eyes.

 I ran away from nature one day and lost my way in a haze or mist of thoughts. I found nothing but pain. Nothing but regrets. I was the fool who wanted to be god. I wanted to be the strongest, the most perfect. Above all and the Earth. I wanted to do more and be more. Well, my foolish arrogance is making me pay the price. I feel like a stone taken out of its cave and placed right in the midst of a Babel tower. Its pure whiteness shimmers like gold in the sun but at night and at a closer look it is nothing but dust and rubbles.