04 May, 2009

Nothing exists but you...

Recently I posted a link on my blog. Upon watching it, it piqued my curiosity, so I decided to hunt the story down. It’s The Mysterious Stranger by Mark Twain. Upon reading it, I came upon the following quote:

In a little while you will be alone in shoreless space, to wander its limitless solitudes without friend or comrade forever--for you will remain a thought, the only existent thought, and by your nature inextinguishable, indestructible. But I, your poor servant, have revealed you to yourself and set you free. Dream other dreams, and better! You perceive, now, that these things are all impossible except in a dream. You perceive that they are pure and puerile insanities, the silly creations of an imagination that is not conscious of its freaks - in a word, that they are a dream, and you the maker of it. The dream-marks are all present; you should have recognized them earlier. It is true, that which I have revealed to you; there is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream - a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought - a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities!

I wondered what exactly was Twain trying to get at here. Then, after a few minutes, it donned on me. The quote sounded like an analogy of DEATH. To me anyway. This got me thinking… what if death is like becoming a disembodied thought?

Years ago I thought it would be great to exist in such a state. No pain of a body and anything you could dream up was your very reality. But now, a little older, I wonder: if I were a dream and realized it, would I have the same desires? Would I want to dream the same dreams? Probably not. Like winning the lottery at 80 years old. What good does it do you then? Life is sickening and hollow. More and more I struggle to find the purpose, particularly on a personal level but I fall short. I think I see the answer... I'll have to ponder on it some more. Maybe one day; probably the last ones; I'll have these thoughts more organized and coherent. Perhaps I’ll leave a book for the world, and hopefully some über religious group won’t get a hold of it and burn it.

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