An entry in my old journal - 1:35AM, July 24th, 2017
To the People,
For the Earth.
Art is not a side effect of life. Life is a side effect of art.
To think that we walk this beautiful planet in all of these wonderful shades on this semi-infinite plane on this gorgeous planet that so perfectly resembles each of us as human beings, holding 71% of water, existing as a result of the cohesion of its organs, and falling ill when a malicious virus walking its surface becomes out of hand (Earth’s virus being no more complex than the human race)…
And we sit here on this ethereal and awfully undeserved paradise and close our eyes of it all and ask, plead, beg for a shot at an afterlife. Promising that in exchange for peace of mind, we will surrender a large and irreplaceable chunk of our humanity and individuality - our freedom of spirit.
Is this a means of justifying wasting our days? Does this mitigate the spiritual devastation and guilt that is an integral and irrefutable fact of wasting the only gift in which we are sure we will ever receive, the one that is sitting in our hands right now - the literal and metaphorical “present”?
It is not a question of “what comes next” that screams at us while we sleep. It is rather an infinite and resounding “how deeply are you here?”
Are you claiming this moment or are you allowing it to slip away into the abyss? Are you receptive and enjoying, or are you feeding the chaos unintentionally with an unquiet mind?
And another thing - is it even fair to be asking ourselves these questions at all?
Am I even speaking the truth?
What is “truth”?