The Purpose of Life 2: A Ramble.

Until recently I was never an avid reader of fiction; non fiction books on subjects that took my fancy were always my fare. Until about three years ago I’d probably only read something like fifteen to twenty novels in my life. Not much, is it?

So, when I started writing my own fiction around ten years ago, I had to go largely on instinct. Over the next eight years I constantly adapted my style according to what seemed and sounded right, and much of the older stuff was quite heavily re-edited. Over half the output got published, so I suppose I must have been doing something right.

What’s interesting, however, is that it wasn’t until I’d run out of stories and decided that an episode of my life had run its course that I felt the urge to read other people’s writing, and that was when I started reading novels in greater quantity. I did so, of course, with a totally different understanding of the process than I would have had earlier. It was a more informed understanding, and that has to be a good thing, doesn’t it?

Well, I’m not so sure. Good in what way? It isn’t going to radically alter my life, is it? And even if it did, would it matter? Whatever we do in life, in the end we just die and leave it all behind. Except the experiences, of course; the only thing we carry with us when we go (assuming our consciousness survives, which I choose to believe it does) is a bag of experiences slung over our backs. And then maybe we stand in line until we reach some sort of celestial being at the top table who says ‘Empty the bag. Let’s see what you’ve collected and what we can make of it.’

I have a strong suspicion that the purpose of life is nothing more than that. It doesn’t matter so much what we do, but what experiences we carry forward to inform a greater dimension of existence.

So what happens next? More of the same, I suppose. Then what? Where are we headed ultimately? What is the meaning of life? Why do any of this at all? I really haven’t a clue. Enlightenment? The principle of the laughing monk is a nice thought, but I’m not convinced yet.

Maybe I’m ascribing too much value to the question. Maybe the only reason we come here is to have an adventure simply because we like to have adventures, and the denser the energy is, the more capable it is of being experienced.

More soup tonight – leek and potato – home made. Yum.