Why live life so that we can have the most we can take in; why not throw everything away, and chance at the other side of reality? It is a basic question, to be or not to be, right? But there is always more to anything that we want to make simple: in this case, we have to exist, there is a great lacking of “not being” in everything that we can possibly see. The only way to die is to journey mentally and socially an infinite distance away from everything that you have ever known. This has to be a quick movement, taking no time at all. But we cannot move everywhere we want to instantaneously, we are very limited. And it is the very nature of these limits, of our inability to control and mold reality the way we want that makes our endless journey into whatever lies beyond an eternal one. And our only solace in the fate of this mediocre, tedious existence is that infinity is the only limiting value, it is the end to any and all means that we have designated for our own purposes.
Yes, yes, this is all well and good, but is this not immediately obvious? We always want more because we can only have so much. We try to circumvent our limitations, and this has had an invariably predictable event- despair. But there are those who would receive sustenance from despair, yet even this is an attempt to make a loophole in our greedy ways; no, we are even in the joy of sorrow working against our own limits. Some try to work against even this, to go along with everything that can come along, not rebelling, but refusal to rebel is a refusal, and so we become encased in our natural elements which we are comprised of, these finite limitations.
However, even though these walls are closing in, it is a product of our growth and our increased lifespan. We are going out while the world is coming in. In the next century, this giant egg of a productive consciousness – humanity in its fullest, will have to split, and we will experience a globe shattering series of events, either in damning consumption by the raw elements, a dead chick. Or a free beast, a creature ready to take flight amongst the stars and great energies of this overtly big cosmos. Either a 0 or a 1, no doubt with some very bizarre and endlessly entertaining alternatives, but not of the endlessly running interaction we can possibly expect in our own unique reality. Either truth or a great lie, our civilization may come to being a story or a relic, instead of a political entity, but one will condense outside our normal boundaries.
Which begs the question, where to next? After Earth is squarely in or out of the game, we will only be in the next level of play, or failing that, Elsewhere. But that is for a later time than the present. We may go to Mars, Europa, Alpha Centauri, or further, but we will be faced again with the imminent challenge of existing. But this is not forever.
People have always had this nagging sense of something else beyond the veil of mortal existence, which puts forth some very interesting ideas, you could imagine. There is a certain plausibility to it, that if human consciousness is so unique, enough to represent a kind of force or message, then there would be a field generating human souls, if you will. Also, they could be just as easily destroyed. This may seem extremely ad hoc, to invoke some para-scientific phenomenon as obscure as this, but really, electrons, protons, everything really, has a field of its own, but all we see in everyday life is the structures and interactions of discrete objects. No doubt consciousness is the format for life itself, a brick of death, mortar of cytoskeletons and DNA. And this goes on and on that way- of life, the universe, reality, but there has to be a more distinct flavor to experiencing these things. We as people, and as thinking entities, need to scour the entire spectrum of the universe to find every last secret space. This is a task for eternity and beyond.
But what good does it do to go on forever? Wouldn’t it be better to only have so much? Memory is such a fickle thing, one of the greatest limits to anything; I myself am capable of forgetting anything you set me to memorize, and if this were not so, then the fullness of time would cause me to implode. The emptiness of the human heart is enough in and of itself to allow for an immortal self, for we will forget everything we understand and believe eventually. Why, if not for our memory problems, we would need 80 brains to remember what happened since we were born, and in fact each of our cells would be the size of a pea if they didn’t chemically forget about 93% of everything that it has experienced. The universe would be a soup of never ending strings of electrons and photons, each trying to retain their existence forever; it would be as if someone tried to fit the moon in a monthly rent-controlled storage shed, stupid and impossible to live with. Our entire existence would be consumed of rewriting everything from scratch when we received new in formation about anything. So, our continual need to retrieve what is lost is what allows discoveries to be made and inventions to be created. The thoughts were always there, maybe not to anyone’s mind, but the nature and spirit of the machine was ever present.
However, eternity is still an overused and abused word. It is also without a doubt the perfect example of hopelessness. Continuing and having no regard to anything else, it will endure every choice we can possibly make. There are no “maybes” in the world of life and death, the war of human cognizance. We can move a decision far, far away, ignore it, delay it, but it will wait, and it will remain; there is no absence of intentional occurrences, many which will change someone’s entire existence. Reality moves, we are forced to play a part, pulling a lever, or one that flips a switch, another pushing a button here; you and I, everyone is a monkey that makes it go.
And go it shall, until existence is nothing more than monkeys upon monkeys in a monkey. A vast topography of gibbering primates in a functional autistic brilliance, that is the reduction, or is it the ascension? But don’t worry, our evolution won’t be as bad as all that, rather a bonanza of uninterrupted stupidity and stupid idiots, that is to say, intelligence. Yes, it will be the Great War for memory space on the universe’s brain- the galaxy clusters. Our own lives are but a short battle against or for ignorance, and end in a very endangering void of anti-cognizance. Yes, surely if we are one, then death is flipping that bit, and our allegiance will be turned. However, it would seem that, as inordinate as human activity is, is for the sake of intelligence, of intellectual exercise in a fashion.
Bits, death, life, it is all as the tossing of many amounts of coins, which only fits because probability is perhaps the most coincidental and impressionable limits to the intelligent war council. Entropy, and in fact the 2nd Law, is nothing more than a law of statistics, the spread of ignorance. Our job, as semi-observant ape-heads, is to beat back the overwhelming tide of worthless information. From all this, of intelligence’s endless and pertinent struggle for power, we can be created. And not only that, but we can be whichever of the two sides we want. It is all a matter of being or not. Both destruction and creation are in our hands, maybe more than anyone else’s. Because our intelligence is as diluted as a drop of sugar in the ocean, we can continually be recruited, and not be promoted out of the actual battle, and stay soldiers and participators. This is a place for us, a reality filled with glory and enough action to keep us going. Yet, eternity and the vast infinity of truth and reality is but a thought, a finite portion of that which we do not yet have. So infinity is zero, and we will never let that become truth, and scrunch all our properties into oblivion-mimicking dust to fit within what we can know. Hamlet was very astute when he commented, “I could be bounded in a nutshell, yet count myself a king of infinite space.” If you ever have any more doubts about whether we will last forever, just look into the night sky and realize that it is just too small, and far too comfortable. Everything is going to change. So, even if infinity is a lie, we can relive ourselves endlessly, until it really will be an identical façade of imagination and memory. At last, i suppose only one question remains: are we here yet?