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Recently I've been noticing more and more people walking around with their hands in the air, asking, "What point is there in living?" Even more recently have I realized how much this scares me, for when I see them asking the reasons for their lives, I also see the question that they do not put into words; "Why should I live? Why not lie down and die?" To be quite honest, it shakes me to the very core of my being. Do they truly care so little for their lives?
"Why should I live?" It is most certainly a question we've all asked of ourselves, and sometimes even of others, at some point in our lives. It's human nature to question the reasons for everything, so of course it's a natural question to ask. And, given man's social nature, just as natural is the desire to call upon others for aid and guidance.
This is good and right, as it deepens the bonds between people and, once they are certain of their reasons for living, gives people a reason to strive and a reason to hope. During the brief (or perhaps not so brief, as all men must grow and learn at their own paces) time that every person searches for the answer to this question, their lack of this knowledge can cause them more misery than anything else they may encounter in their lives.
Yet this short duration of misery is far more than worthwhile, for once this answer has been discovered, a person can find more hope and faith in themselves than ever before. This is what scholars and writers and philosophers refer to when they speak of the unconquerable human spirit. It is this very pride in life that gives men the spark, the drive, the will to attain their dreams, no matter how far away they might seem.
But what of those questers who, instead of asking others for guidance, plead for answers? What would become of them, they who cannot find their own, unique reason for living? What would they become?
Most likely, failing to see the beauty and purpose of life, many turn to self-mutilation, and, in turn, to suicide. But what of those who cannot even summon the courage to let go? What sort of hopeless monstrosities might they become?
They become lost souls, drifting through a life of undeath, praying, waiting for the void to take them. These damned ones can be easily distinguished by way of the dull, glazed veil of death that rests eternally in their eyes. This is not to say that they are easily perceived by their manner, for the actions of these walking dead often take form in the shape of that which they most desire to attain.
The majority of those who appear the most frivolous and joyful amongst humanity are often these very lost souls, playing through a horrific farce in the vain hope that it will bring them the joy they feign. It will not, and can not. Such joy can only be attained by the ordeals endured to learn the realization of the self. Suffering must be experienced in order to fully understand and appreciate the measure of joy. Happiness is not given freely, nor does the world give it frivolously, as these souls believe. Happiness, while enjoyed by every living individual in their own manner, of their own making, is a thing earned, not given.
So to those who walk about with their hands in the air, asking, "What point is there in living?" I say to them: "That, my friend, is something that only you can discover. If you so desire, I will serve as your willing advisor, but this is a path that only you can walk, and it may only be walked alone. I wish you the best of luck on your journey."
I already know my reason for living, unlike so many I have met who are still searching. I live solely for my own happiness, and that, my friend, is an end unto itself.
"I swear, by my life and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor will I ask another man to live for mine." -Oath taken by those entering Galt's Gulch, from Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
"Ex nihilo nihil fit." -Latin for "Nothing comes from nothing."
-PyroAurah
 PyroAurah · Thu Oct 19, 2006 @ 01:57am · 3 Comments |
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