Life's Purpose

10/25/10 A day of relief.

I've decided that enjoy writing at what I perceive to be my own higher level of fundamental, yet airliner, self logic. Not that I believe I have a higher understanding of topics and their sub-topics, no, not at all. I just simply refer to what I'm presuming to be my own higher basis of comprehension of the world around me and All. What is All? All, to me, is just that; everything. From the word "hi" to the occurrences and probability of such complicatedly simple phenomenon as anomalies.

Shortened: I like my words. And so I will start a journal. Though I doubt it will exactly get far, or come off interesting towards others, more specifically my age, who I wish could -- note could and not would -- share such a level of critical thinking.

Thinking is onto thought, and thought is, relatively, a large topic. I suppose I'll start there. For what is a journal without occasional insights of the strings of yarn that make up the ball that is metaphorically my mind?

Thought; is it a chemical response to everything detected through sense by the brain such as that of emotions? Or is it something completely different? How does the mind develop and sustain; process and, in all, work? The brain is an organ, yes? But how can it generate, through tissue and chemicals, such an amazing concept as Thinking?

The mind is expandable. Picture it as a big room, a massive, enormous room. A room stretching left and right, up and down to infinite amounts of measurement. The room is so infinitely huge that it isn't even considered a room anymore. In other words, the mind is, sort to say, its own universe.

That people on this world see it, the mind, as just regular life, is sad. I see people fit in so little into this infinite, universally huge space. People think about only a few basic things: food, housing, status/occupation, and sex. But there is so much more. And that doesn't refer to the various hobbies able to be picked up, be it drugs to twiddling thumbs to writing, and everything beyond, lower or in between.

But, we think these are the elements of life itself. As a zombie sees its purpose is to consume, we see it fit to follow these standards. But who can blame us? We are but human, the most powerful, yet weakest beings on Earth; the smartest, and yet most idiotic creatures spawned. This is to be human. Other than that, we too are animals. Violence and/for procreation moves the species forward.

There is so much more though. Animals follow the creed of survival, and we do the same, because we are animals – after all – because we actually choose to follow the creed. But, be it from an omniscient higher power, fate, or evolution, we have unique individual thought that not only generates personality, but imagination.

This is the Purpose of life; to imagine, because unlike all else on this planet, we can.There is no application of this. We aren’t meant to do anything with it. Just to simply accomplish such a feet is spectacular. Just to be able to sit and imagine whatever you wish to imagine is your purpose.

It is sad, depressing, that this is overlooked. No one is thankful for the imagination that we carry with us, because it is considered – being the purpose to life – basic; normal. And therefore it is outcast from the room of Mind’s center, and placed somewhere off in the far corner.

Funny how people search for the answer to the purpose of life when they’ve already used its concept in the process of just wondering what the purpose of life is in the first place.