Let’s try and be unreasonable for once, shall we? Let’s write for pleasure, and pleasure only, without ever keeping our mouth shut just because we can’t prove that what we say is true.
There will always be somebody who demands me to be silent. And somebody who asks whether I have permission to say whatever I am saying. Do you have a degree or at least some online course completed on that? Have you lived this in your life? How dare you say it if you can’t prove it is true?
As far as I am concerned — note the qualifying statement here — I will never ever know whether what I write is true. So I might as well start from here, with all the ideas and assumptions I have, simply accepting that they are fallible. Then it only becomes the question of how I frame my statements.
They may be seen as beliefs, which I constructed from the thoughts I was having regularly that upon repetition became the ways to guide my casual behaviour.
They may be questions, which are the only way I know how to approach learning about the mechanics of life.
They may be copy-paste pieces of information that I found somewhere, found appealing, and then treated them as mine enough to make use of them while making a point of expressing myself.
There will never be complete enough data and human lives to prove any point. I am only starting to learn how to live with that, since for years I was striving to find a way that would allow me to always be right.
Today, I see it clearly: the satisfaction of being right is nowhere near to the satisfaction of simply being content with whatever unfolds. The latter is the art I am striving for.
There is no space in the Universe for eternal conflict, and so each conflict we perceive has to, at some point, come to a resolution. This is at least my intuition — which I cannot obviously back up by scientific proof. But what is a proof anyway? A language-based expression denying that things could ever be different?
I wouldn’t call it proof. I would call it denial.
How do I know all this, even if I don’t believe proofs exist? Well, the magic happens when I consciously decide to put a smile on my face. For a moment I forget that anything else ever existed — apart from what I am perceiving right now. This is when I connect to my private, yet commonly available, wisdom.
When I create a moment like that — and I can create it anytime — the need for absolute knowledge disappears into thin air. It becomes almost impossible to imagine that, once upon a time, we used to be so determined to get to the absolute truth.
We were so determined that we trained our minds to trick us into thinking that we know. Knowing never mattered to us as much as believing that we know — or will know in the future. All we were after was maintaining an illusion which, for some mysterious reasons, made us feel safe.
Now imagine these times are over forever. There will never be the need for an illusion as long as we can perceive the present moment without bias.
Drifting away in my words, I realised that this is only a metaphor. One that materialised itself not for the sake of claps and accolades, but for the sake of me being in the present. Feeling the sweet surface of the keyboard letters beneath my fingers. Smiling to myself as I feel free at least for this brief moment, before I proceed with more organised tasks of my daily life.
The feeling of freedom is what I live for — and, ironically, it only seems to be in the moments of freedom that I know it.
I remember that getting to the absolute with a destination-consciousness was never really the point of life. The point was always to be where I am right now — relaxing into the moment and remaining open to expanding a little bit more in each second.
Tears in my eyes are necessary, too. They remind me about who I really am.