just writing

And so you wake into this world, instantly inheriting the indignity and helplessness brought on by the inability to communicate with those of your own kind who have already arrived, of no individual capacity, even to discard your own waste. This is the first of many insults naturally brought onto you by participation in the great algorithm that is life.

Your embarrassment at your indignity is usually manifested in the bond of love you build with the two who anchored your soul into this physical realm, who in response to your cries of indigence could smother you with affection, or ignore you and leave you to wallow. You learn what to expect in your state of existence, of what conditions this world must feature. So the game of mental growth through reactions and introspection advances and compounds, you develop a personality through cues from others. You learn your self worth or lack of, and what exactly you are.

The genes of your parents, millions of years of response to this environment through natural selection and mutation, further add or detract from the inept steering of the vehicle of life, but will limit you somehow. Maybe your boat is lacking an anchor, maybe a paddle or two, maybe the tide is too low or too high, or maybe you simply haven't learned how boats work yet.

But what, child, was that first thought, the foundation of a life's work of psyche? What was the first motivation in life, the purpose you already knew, the mission statement of your life?
Is the heaven man is trying to build on Earth the result of our best answer to a childhood dream? Are we trying to make the heaven of that first great story our parents instilled in our minds, or are we trying to return to the Eden from which we were already cast out of prior to our current predicament?

You must come to terms with where you are, your mind has been delivered here, now you must make a physical representative of it through intelligent response to the environment. Man takes up arms to meet the challenge. We fight the uphill battle to survive, and when survival is met, we improve conditions beyond what is required for survival. We intend to manipulate the world to our advances, both personal and otherwise, but just what have we been making through the combined efforts of all who have live and died?

I tell you.
We panic, we know the world isn't the true home of man, or consciousness just yet: it must be perfected, this thing called life.
We extend ourselves and our minds, I tell you, we will make our god, out of ourselves.
Out of our bloodshed, our love, our art, our technology; we will craft all the world to human aim until all is perfectly suited to our desires. Then we will weep, when we discover our sole purpose has been fulfilled. We've met our needs to the last order. And then, I wonder, what may the children be born to desire of this existence?

Why not then restart the cycle for their sake?

 

Chaos is peace my friend. Nice work.

 

Thanks man