Someone is born. A new one. Into a vast world.
Hopefully, born to live, and to last.
But that someone will not go through his life unscathed. There is no way. But that's the nature of the experiment, the way we were supposed to experience it.
That someone comes into this world. He doesn't know it to begin with, but as I said in my last article, time has done a lot before him, and will do a lot more after him. His life doesn't have much of a purpose, compared to time.
That's false.
Someone is about to die. An old one. Out of a vast world.
Hopefully, he will die in peace, and without regret.
But that someone didn't go through his life unscathed. There is no way. But that was the nature of the experiment. His experiment. Or, more accurately, the experiment they played on him. "They" being time. That uncontainable bitch that I talked about in my last article, while in the meantime, I wasted some of it, time.
His life didn't have much of a purpose, compared to time. Did it?
That's false.
We all go through this. We all will, or we all have.
Life.
I've barely cut into the cake. I still have a lot of mushy chocolate and vanilla to bite through, plenty of soft icing to lick of the top, but I still have plenty of gravel to spit out and swallow too.
We always pray for the best. To have the best life possible. Many people have finished the cake and are just waiting for it to digest and to just float away... Some of them have said to me: "I wish I hadn't suffered so much in my life." The fact is, that's impossible.
People will suffer. From the day they are born to the day they die, they are open to it. That's the nature of the experiment. Even if you are rich, and people will do all your chores and jobs for you, you will still have bad days.
That's not where the experiment lies.
No.
The experiment lies in the fact that we're put through a test. We will all end up scarred. Some of us will end up made out of scars. These scars can be buried deep beneath the skin, some childhood trauma that will resurface whenever you fly dangerously close to the bottom of the whirlpool. Other scars are shallow, superficial. They'll sting, sometimes atrociously, for a few days, when eventually, they'll hide away and not bother you anymore. Well not directly.
Then there's that third type of scar. That type that many people don't know exist. The kind of scar that if you mention it to people, they'll turn away, thinking you're delusional. That type of scar that is planted there in the beginning. It's always there, itching. Throbbing.
That scar is the power of your mind. That scar makes you think, wonder, hope for impossible things to happen. That scar is also there when those impossible things stay impossible, and everything comes crashing down.
That scar will always be there, laughing at you. But by laughing at you, it provokes you. For the precise reason that it wants you to react. It wants you to get off the secluded island and head for the mainland. Back with the living. Well, no one really "lives" anyway.
That scar is the people you don't want to disappoint. That scar is the things you've always wanted to do. The goals you've always wanted to achieve.
I have that scar. All I can say is that it's been bleeding profusely ever since I started to think for myself. It's that scar that makes me think all of these thoughts.
It makes me think beyond scarhood.
Beyond, in a world with no borders, no boundaries, no limits.
But when the time comes to get through another week, that bliss crumbles.
And yet that scar is there, laughing at me. And it makes me think, "Fuck. I shouldn't still be here." So it drags me, or I drag myself, out of that wonderland, back into reality, and I start walking around again, interacting with all the others that were born with that scar. That is to say, everyone. Even the ones who choose to live their life on the surface, without digging into the deep layers of the cake.
That scar lives with us. Sometimes, that scar is us. Just to make us wonder.
That's the nature of the experiment.
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