Most of our life is spent in ignorance and we struggle to break into a realm of knowing using whatever tools are available to us and following each and every fad that crosses our path enough times to catch our attention. We are dismally aware of our inability to move beyond our feeble capabilities and acquire whatever means is around to repackage our ideas in better and better packages.
Our zen for understanding is to tie off all the loose endings so that we may glimpse optimistic signs of our potential immortality of which we are inherently uncertain, but manage to doubt. We doubt more our mortality than our immortality as we age.
The older we get the more we sense our immortal strings, those fine energies that tie us to an invisible monster that is our full existence. Rather than accepting our time as a single stretch, we increasingly place ourselves in imaginary realms to conjure what it will be like rather than what it could be like.
Not having a clue, we are constantly struggling to join ourselves with others who might make sense, but realize that we are eternally alone in what we can be certain and eternally joined in what seems tom us to be impossible and frivolous speculation.
