Living is a selfish act. No, I must not desire to live. That desire crushes the thinker, it gives me reasons to compromise; breaking my ocean of a mind into tiny channels each directed to a purpose whose ultimate goal is to let you live. Killing the impulse. Almost masochistic. Afflicting great pains and calling that pleasure. More like deceit.
Wonder if animals (excluding us) can remenisce or dream. They sure register those of their clan and their progeny, but can their brain harbour memories as well? Can they feel a longing as intense and vivid as us or is it just their transitory chemical imbalances that give NatGeo a good script? What gets me there is that in the process of being conscious and selfish about our present and 'living' in the context of a future and a past, we are only drawing ourselves towards the wretched. Think about it: one huge way in which we differ from other species is that we are capable of moving in either direction of time (with ease). We can manipulate what we perceive, can live in the past or the future. No, not the present. The present is the most transitory fragment that we can possibly worry about. It's only a conversion stage that processes future and converts it into the past. Future exists before the past does; if there were no future at the beginning of time, there would be no past.
Like a computer game where our gameplay dictates what experience lies next - the stage is set, the lines already drawn, we only have to step in. Much akin, we have our future shaped by our thoughts and actions.
So how can living a life of a drone, conforming to the stale ways of the propriety and give us bliss? Then we glorify, apotheosize and lie to give the sham a credible form. Things went wrong somewhere.
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