More Fruitless Rambling.

I was reflecting this evening on those days back in my past when I played the game of life along with everybody else. I remembered that there was fun to be had back then, and excitement, and things to aspire to, and things to look forward to, and so on and so forth. Put it all together and I suppose it gave me a sense not of belonging – I never really felt that – but of being enclosed within a package of things which I could reach out and touch. I suppose it’s a bit like driving a car with all the controls around you and a warm, watertight shell keeping you safe from the elements. Get out of the car and you have only your feet to carry you forward through the cold, the wet, and the stinging wind. That’s how life currently feels, now that I’ve mostly stopped playing the game because it all seems so artificial and pointless.

And last night I watched a YouTube video which examined the evidence for reincarnation. It told of the little girl who claimed that she remembered her previous life, she remembered her death in that life, and she remembered wanting to come back here because she liked being on earth in a human body.

This is where I get confused because I don’t know the truth behind any of this; I merely have suspicions of various strengths. And I don’t trust gurus because I don’t see how they can know it either. And so I fall to wondering whether life as a human being really is just an illusion set up to facilitate the playing of a game, and whether we only keep coming back here simply because we enjoy it. Or is that only part of the story? Could it be that some of the ways in which we act and think and feel have some significance beyond the illusion, which is why all that is meaningful in life ultimately distils to the abstract?

The next step is to ask a fundamental question, but I’m not going to do so because it would be prey to various misconstructions. It’s my opinion that philosophical enquiry – especially when it’s at the core of that existential branch which we call ‘spirituality’ – has to be conducted from a position outside the cultural tram lines looking in, and then it can easily become a capricious firecracker when it’s thrown back between the tracks. I might put it to the priestess some time. She wouldn’t misconstrue it.

And now I’m seeing life as a curve which starts at a point on a line, rises to run straight for a while, and then curves back down to the baseline at the point which we call death. And I find it difficult to countenance the notion that the consciousness which entered the life at the beginning didn’t arrive there from somewhere else.

And now I’m rambling so I’m going to shut up. It isn’t even a well written post, but I don’t suppose it matters very much. And the pungent scent of jasmine is strong again tonight. And I’ve discovered that the combination of whisky and tomatoes doesn’t agree with me. (I wonder whether this might lie at the heart of the dilemma.)