Sartre and Camus Came to Me in a Séance

This pervasive and deeply rooted nervous dread that seeps into my every waking moment is something that I have learned to live with. I believe that it is simply the human condition, the existential predicament if you will. A sort of nagging ball of doubt that forces us to recognize that our lives are slipping away with every passing moment. We all adjust in our own manner or, quite literally, die trying. The most common panacea is religion but those of us with a constitution not suited for this prescription have to search doggedly for a different remedy. Whether it be vice, asceticism, or throwing ourselves into some sort of “fruitless endeavor.” A term which I use loosely given the utterly elusive nature of value judgments. The list goes on and on but in the end all of these remedies amount to nothing more than a placebo. For no matter what, we are all burdened with having to tolerate ourselves.  We can only exist in a detached stupor for so long. Even the most ideal paradise can grow boring and cause us to yearn for anything else so long as it is different.  

This chilling reflection was written during my meditation session. I find it comedic that coming to touch with my very center (which as you can tell is overly romanticized) gave rise to this fiendish little affront to decency. If this is what “detachment from self” truly is, then most of us would be far better off not coming anywhere near it. But, I suspect that this is all just the very first step toward “enlightenment.” If only I can find the nerve to put the next foot forward.

I will let you know that this was all written spontaneo. Whether that adds or detracts from it, I cannot say.