The unknown: More personal than you think?

Last night I was thinking about people. Do you ever do that? Just think about all of the 6.6 billion people in the world? It's mind boggling. All of those human beings, in different countries, down the street. What are they thinking right now? How do they feel at this very moment? What do they regret? What is the one thing that they want most? They are human and they have feelings, but they are nothing like me. Some of them would scare me. Another would be my best friend. But they are out there, and sometimes we get caught up in our own lives, in our own little circle of acquaintances who are so similar to us, that the idea of other people who are different seems abstract, even conceptual. "Of course there are others. But are they really that different? I don't see how they could be..." When we get caught up in that kind of thought process, we become close-minded.

But think about all of those people that we won't ever meet in our lives. The majority of the world. What are the chances that we won't find someone that we are supposed to? Someone who will help us to grow or teach us something or give us a wonderful gift? The odds aren't in our favor. I hate to think that I'm missing out, that everyone is. I think about myself, and how very few people actually know me, and I want to know the same type of people. I want to meet those who would understand, and who I would understand in turn. I want to save them too.

I want to believe that there isn't any randomness, although randomness is what we need sometimes. And I would like to think that there is a plan, that we will meet those who we are supposed to. But if I except that, then I'll have to accept other things as well.

If Adam and Eve ate knowledge, then shouldn't we know what we need? Why are we so clueless as to who others are? Who we are ourselves? It doesn't make sense to me, and I desperately wish that it did.

What about the people you "know?" Your friends, your relatives, that person that you always see walking down the hall, but who you've never spoken to. That guy who always makes fun of the teacher in math, or even a complete stranger you walk past on the sidewalk. Who are they? Do they even know? I doubt that they do, because I don't know me.

And how many people go walking around thinking that they have a pretty good idea of who they are, when they actually have no clue at all?

All of it is sad. Everyone. The whole world, myself included. We can pretend, we can bluff, we can force ourselves to fit the standard that we and others want. But it's not the truth. It's never the truth. No matter how good our intentions, they don't make a lie true. And if that is true (although I doubt it is, because everything is a lie), then how are we supposed to know if this is real, if any of it is real? How is it possible to live in a world where people lie, when everything is a lie? Lying shouldn't even be possible. And so our world isn't real.

Maybe we are all living inside of the dream of one ultimate being. We think we are real, we've deluded ourselves into believing that this is our place, one that we've created. We can experience all of the emotions that we think we should. We can even die inside of this dream that isn't ours. But since it's all a lie, it doesn't matter. We just go back into that place inside of that being's head, and we call it heaven. Maybe it is.

Someone told me recently that they didn't believe in depression. But how could they look at this world and say something like that? If all of this is true (which is most likely isn't, because everything is a lie), then how couldn't they immediately fall into depression.

Maybe I shouldn't believe in happiness. Maybe it's just a state made up like everything else so that we feel like we have a goal to work toward. Maybe just getting caught up into this place that isn't real is enough to make us feel happy. But I'm not sure if I ever will be, if I'll ever fall for that trick. I don't say this in self pity; I say this because it is what I believe to be the truth.

Maybe I'm the deluded one. Maybe I really am insane.

I've learned something about myself that I have a hard time believing. It can't be true, because if it is, then there are other things that I don't remember. It scares me sometimes.

I know this probably doesn't make sense to you. Or maybe it does. I don't know who you are. But if what I've just written calls to even a little part of you, then I'm glad. And I'm also sad. Even if this place is made up, it's still a place to be. And that's something, right?

Thank for reading this, if you even read this far. Cryptic entries are my specialty.

I am now sending this message out into the Universe. Let it find who it needs to.