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There is nothing besides
Nothing but what it is.
Life is a very strange thing. No single point of view allows you to fully understand anything in this life, including yourself. It would seem that everything is simple, and you know exactly what and how exactly you need to do, but no, it does not work, it goes to the side, gets confused, mixes up and in the end, we ourselves explain to ourselves what we did one thing, but got another.
How can this be? Is the unconscious leading us?
Or do we really understand little in what we understand everything?
Or maybe it's just a waste of time, to understand all this instead of quietly drinking, eating and talking with a strategic partner in the alcohol processing holding. Yes, and what to talk about, I do not know.
Look around and think that in principle there is something that can really be called hypertrophied ideas about freedom in this world. Around us there are millions of things, houses, people, ideas and the same number of unanswered messages with the subject “who are we to each other?”.
Sometimes you can feel this aching feeling of detachment, characteristic of you in everything, and carefully protected by your social survival instinct. Your attitude can be measured by the suddenly revealed face of the saint on the wall of the church, it is - there is interest, it is not - there is only blind faith in its existence without any confirmation or action. And with all this, we are desperately fighting for the right to be understood and for the right to understand others.
How can one regard this striving in the absence of real interest not only to the person, but also to everything that exists in principle, except for oneself.
A way to protect yourself from the awareness of your detachment, or how the instinct of self-preservation in the crowd?
Could the area of our life be in itself deadly for us and, taking over the threat of death from it, we strive to block this threat by our expansion of life into the world. Bash on bash, death for life, fear for fear.
And then we really remain with what we were originally with - only with our feelings. Perhaps our whole life comes down to converting our feelings into things.
The more consciously the feelings - the less things, the more painful the experiences - the brighter and thicker the outer shell.And here it makes no sense to derive the “worse-better” formula, it’s all the essence of the same thing, just in a different direction, in any case, there’s just visibility. After all, everything that is not prohibited is permitted, but everything that is incomprehensible and uncontrollable is prohibited.
What opportunity to choose depends on you and on something else, because you, too, in a sense, the product of something did not appear here of your own free will. And this can also be challenged, but let it be better this way, otherwise we will move on to the level of the radiant, infantile fantasy about our omnipotence while not being able to calm the neighbor with the loud TV behind the wall.
It seems that this is something that has brought us here, and that is what we have and are looking for at the same time, going through grains of sand in the palm of your hand for the rest of your life. It can be frighteningly simple if you take this fact on faith, which in principle remains to be done.
Not to command anything and anyone is perhaps the most difficult thing in life, because we are looking for, we will transform our feelings, we express our pain in control, we want to know here and now, what is this !?
What is life and what is in it, besides what I think?
Or Jean Baudrillard was right, it's all just one big hallucination of one huge creature.And nothing else.