Life is so much more complex than one could ever hope to observe.
Our human experience feels like a slide show, slowly flicking through the slides as cars race behind the projector screen, one can hear the faint sound of explosions, screaming, crying. Even what you can hear, limited as it is, is simply a drop in the ocean of what occurs outside. The slice of misery we witness as we live our lives, as unbearable as it is to us, is a minuscule fraction of what really exists, of what there really is. I often think about an interview with Donald Trump in 2004, where he was asked how he handles stress. He responded, “I try and tell myself it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters … You do this, you do that, and then you have earthquakes in India where 400,000 people get killed.” An uncharacteristic level of insight.
Eight billion souls on this Earth, all living, all commiserating, and countless more poor souls already taken up from this Earth, having already miserated. So much life lived, so much life to live.
And so what of the attempt to understand life and the world around us? Any attempt seems futile. There are those who stand in front of the world, exclaiming, “I’ve figured it out! I know how things work!” These people are made fools by their vain folly, only enjoying a few moments of pompous vanity, exalted by a crowd of naive simpletons, the only sort who could fall for such a claim. I feel vicarious shame for those who profess themselves to have mastered living. Anyone with any sense understands that life is so far beyond any human comprehension.
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