What is sight? It's a hallucination. There is so much we can't see. So many sights we'll never experience. We're trapped in a very small fraction of the universe called the visible spectrum. But what does it really matter? Visible light hitting your brain is just as visible as the microwaves heating your dinner. Your sensory organs and your brain must interpret these specific wavelengths into something it can understand. This light energy is transferred into thought: a never ending hallucination in your brain called sight. A representational image of human logic. This is not the way the universe is. Then what is it really? As humans we'll never know. We will forever be trapped in our logic. Well, at least as long as we live. Everything we see is chemicals ordered by sensory organs stimulated by the outside. Your world never leaves your head. Everything you see and feel is occurring in your head. The computer screen that appears to be in front of you is nothing more than mirage created by chemicals oozing through the pathways of your brain. How you feel about this is idea is nothing more than additional chemicals. Everything is an illusion. But what of emotion? Is it of external origin as sight is? Is emotion created in response to surroundings or is it a response to the previously mentioned world created in one's own mind? Is emotion a product of the "true" reality or one's own? This is the same as asking: Is there a soul?


On another note... I just wanted to add something weird. I feel emotions in a very strange way. I wish I could describe how an emotion feels to me, but to do that it would seem very difficult... or impossible. Nostalgia is something I can almost taste. That's prolly the best I can describe it. It's not like any flavor at all though. It doesn't originate from my tongue nor does it feel like I'm eating something but it gives a very similar sensation that knowing when you're tasting something does. Past events in my life each have their own flavor. Really though I am most definitely not talking about something like "when I smell fresh laundry it reminds me of when my mom would throw the warm clothes from the dryer on me when I was a baby... I can still taste the dinners she made when I was that young". It is no way like that at all. It's a strange sensation. I've been known though to go through stages where I think in numbers. Not in words or images but similar to how a computer thinks in binary. It is definitely not fun. There are types of autism out there that explain sensations like his. People tasting colors and all that. But I feel as though my feeling of emotions is like a sixth physical sense, incomparable to any of the other 5. I don't know, it must be psychosis.

Empiricism

It's really not fair. Some people see the world as a wonderful place while others must endure it as if it is hell. What makes this so? If it is same universe why is not seen the same way between two individuals? How can one landscape be a scene of joy for one while at the same time a scene of suffering for another? When people describe reality they forget to describe the emotion attached to it. They say reality is a sum of what most people perceive, something that exists independently of ideas concerning it. This is simply not true. The variation between the way each object or idea is truly perceived by minds is infinite. I see a tree, a sublime symbol of life and beauty. You see a tree with its out stretched roots sucking the life from the world, a symbol of parasitic destruction. This world is destroyed. Everything must be tangible in order to gain respect from our thoughts. Faith is destroyed. One must understand what you feel is the truth, the real reality, a reality of your own. Master it.

Who would dare adulterate the most sacred of all humanity? To exist is to subsist in a collective consciousness. Who would defile and deny one's own existence? No benefit born of deception outweighs the extirpation of consciousness. One who deceives deceives them self. For destruction of the truth is disruption of cognizance, the spawn of anxiety. Deception, a narcotic of internal origin chilling warm blood, bartering vitality for ephemeral ardor... dopamine, an illusion. To follow the flesh is to pursue myopia for it is only a phantasm veiling the truth.

The weight that shrouds the being is a preternatural one. It is dominated not by gravity but by an aggregate of apathies. What force can countermand this crushing affliction and mollify the degradation of the spirit? Why must the inquiry of this force be such a perennial quest? Does the answer exist in a place one seldom chooses to delve? Or must we simply further observe what we are in habit to discount? We search for more before we even know what we have. The weight that shrouds the heart can be assuaged only by a force of intangible dimensions.

It's been so long... I can't remember the last emotion I've understood. A feeling of joy, even existing as a distance memory, would only slightly alleviate the acrimonious numbness that governs my existence. If only I had the ability to miss what preceded this seemingly timeless endeavor to feel. Who I once was is trapped in a stagnant pile of misfiring neurons.