Purpose? #14 #cong22
Like everyone who has ever lived,
I wonder if there is a reason why.
Realising that I cannot find any real answer,
I am confronted by the need to find a personal reason.
Who defines us? Who decides for us? Who assigns the score?
In the end, it is what we choose it to be.
And the only judge is ourselves.
Reading Time in Minutes
- Mortality is inescapable
- Religion, ideologies and myths are excuses
- We alone define our purpose
- Ultimately, we are what we do.
About Ronan Kelly
Another Irish guy, living abroad, and dreaming of places that never were.
Contacting Ronan Kelly
You can reach Ronan by email.
By Ronan Kelly
We have carried it, this egg, since we first awoke. Clutched tight to our souls, hidden deep, all our lives. Unbreakable and cold.
The aching emptiness of a fundamental truth. Always known.
A burden beyond doubt. Beyond prayers, portents, pleas and all the other lies.
All that lives, is transient, and dies.
All that you, I, we, have thought, have seen and been, used and made, all of it … will all fade.
The Sun lights, the day after our deaths, a world without us.
And not just the you of you and the me of me, I mean the whole of the We. Big ‘H’: Humanity.
Birds will sing, after the last city, falls silent. Bats snatch insects from an unmarred sky.
The myriad creatures will entwine in their endless games, freed from troublesome man. And Woman before she smiles.
Then further along, as time flows, the rain will wash the fields, the forests and the old stones,
back to the sea; to be rethrown repeatedly, over the shoulders of new lands.
Until the sun exalts, and spends itself, searing our skies.
In the face of this wind, which will eventually scour all the ME of me, away; What can I say?
Whom should I assail? Will the Starmaker consider an appeal?
Cowards that we are, faced with this fact, shriven and cold, we always evade.
Flee to children’s games. Of things, that never were. To stories told, as comforting lies.
Symbols, sigils, signs, in the Seas, Sands and Skies. Distractions, delusions, dreams.
I try to be brave. “Turn and face the blast”. Lift my eyes and gaze into the Harsh. Bleak but clear:
The purpose for which I live, is a choice, made by me, for me, against eternity.
It exists nowhere outside my mind, means nothing, and will be unmade as I will be.
Those before us, weighed their burdens well. Explored the ways.
Followed or fled, to purity or pity. Hid in hedonism, or drowned in dread.
All choices. All valid. In the maze of our minds, all ways lead to the hollow central dell. Empty.
So, I considered their paths. Found one which appeals. I tried to peer through Nietzsche’s eyes.
And found an answer which would perhaps work for me.
Namely, in a World of Dark: Why not pick up a torch and try to spread some light?
Though the substance is unchanged, the light at least warms the mind.
And I should. I must. I must admit, that I am now changed.
While the System of the World remains the cage, I see now, in the dim light which I hold,
those who are here with me, entangled and entwined. Their lives have become precious to me, and cruelty, the only sin, must be opposed.
I met the Sionnach in the Snow, and it stared long, with eyes bright, into mine.
This life will be taken away. There are no exits, no escapes. I accepted my fate.
It is all, so, so, so … short. So little time. And less time left (where did it all go?!).
For me, for you, and for everything that lives. And for those, once dear, already reposed.
I will lift that candle, hold that torch, and try to bring some light, though feeble, to the murk.
Even if only, for a little while.
Why not try Mercy, Empathy and Solidarity, against that void?
Not for you. Not for them. Not for gods, reason or hope.
But for family and friends.
The fallen, forsaken, forgotten.
Even our foes.
And for me.