Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Prison of Purpose
written by Kyle
In this life, weather we know it or understand it, our mind splits the world into its infinite objects and subjects, each with a purpose. If we don't know its purpose, we seek it out, place it in a generalization or categorize it into some logical box. The grass grows because of some seeds were sewn in the soil, nurtured by minerals and water, trimmed and maintained.
The tree roots into the soil, and is imbibed with the rays of the sun, transformed in the chlorophyll of the leaves. It grows and over time it shades this chair we bought, which is made from plastic, which is derived from some fantastic chemical composition. The chair allows us to rest under the shade of the tree, with the carpet like silkiness of the grass under feet, to ponder the meaning of the universe and ask over and over why we are here.
Our condition begins with our conscious mind, moving to and from, always labeling good or bad, purpose and reason for all the things around us. Somehow in this realization of being, we are aware of our mind, these thoughts, this ever changing body. We put a name to this being, give it titles, goals, ambitions and drives. We delve into this flesh, learn its parts, understand its manners and actions for each blood, tissue and bone that makes it up.
The tendency of the mind is to seek these purposes out, to search for those wonders that bring us pleasure and to avoid those dreadful things that bring us pain. Our mind objectifies anything and everything, viewing from the points of form, color, sounds and functions, to which we create its purpose.
Its the question that drives us mad, spurs humans to create even grander beings and notions of the divine, spawn beautiful prose about love and life , celebrates its beginnings and laments its end. You know the question just as I; for what is our purpose? Our mind just can't seem to view itself, to find its reason other than to place purpose on everything else. I see this as our prison, our exhausting human condition. The inability to place a purpose on mind and the reason of me, confuses and confounds us to no end.
Perhaps, our real problem is that the universe, this oneness, God or what not really isn't asking any question. We know reality, we are inexplicably immersed in it, part of it, forever embedded in this infinite moment. It seems to free ourselves from this this prison of purpose, we feel we need to find some logical answer to this question.
What if there is no question?
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