The Heavy Burden of Consciousness

We are all the same, really. I'm not talking about egalitarianism, I'm talking about the most basic level. I'm talking about the soul. If the soul can be said to exist. I'm talking about consciousness, if such a thing exists.

As in Breakfast of Champions, we are all an unwavering beam of light. That our bodies are just meat machines, and that the only truly alive part of us is our awareness.

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As many of you know, I work at a movie theater. I often have conversations with my coworkers about the terrible movies we have, and how people enjoy them so. Often I say that I wish I could enjoy every movie I see. I wish I could find joy from such simple things, instead of needing complexity and meaning behind everything.

Perhaps it would be better to be a simpler person. To enjoy things that I consider stupid, vapid, inane.

To return to my childhood.

I feel as though when I was a child, I found enjoyment in almost anything. I could watch any television program and be interested. I loved every movie I watched.

Though, somehow, I never let television destroy my imagination, like so many others. I played for hours with my plastic green and tan army men. Staging elaborate battles, with great heroes and evil villains. Morality was simple. Everything was black and white. Good guys and bad guys.

I knew what was right and wrong.

This is before my moral development. Before I saw the shades of gray. When everything had an answer. When I knew who I was, and what would happen when I died.

Before things stopped making sense. Before my morality evolved, before I was able to empathize with others. Before I cared about everyone so damned much.

I only felt my own pain in those simple days. Now I feel the world's agony weighing down on me.

Some stay at that childhood stage. Those who feel as though everything is simple. That they know who they are, and that they have a role to fulfill based on gender, culture, or religion.

That they know what is right and what is wrong. And that the shades of gray don't exist. That you are either with them, or against them. Those fools.

Those fools who never question who they are. Never wonder, what the hell am I doing here? What is the point of everything? Why bother?

They can say, a man is a man, and a woman is a woman. Men should be masculine, because that is what they are. No introspection required. Only testosterone. No self-reflection.

No self-awareness. Only animal instinct. On the most basic level.

Religion often lets us escape this introspection. It acts as a substitute for digging deep into your own soul, and defining your very essence. Why try and discover who you are when your religion so clearly tells you the answer.

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I used to know who I was. I used to think I knew. I have no idea now. It scares me. That must be another reason my relationship failed. How can I proclaim to love someone, to know them intimately, when I don't know myself?

What the fuck am I doing? Is there a reason for all of this? Am I doing the right things? Does it matter?
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Though, even the people on the most simplistic stages of moral development realize their own mortality. Instead of facing it, they accept what Kurt Vonnegut called "foma" or harmless untruths. Instead of facing the scariest thought of all, they must run to the idea of an afterlife.

Is there a soul? I have no idea. I like to think so. I like to think that I am more than just carbon. More than just chemical reactions.
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Would I be happier if I did not require all of this deep thinking? If I could just accept life for what it is. If I just did what was expected of me, in this country, as a male, as a Christian.

Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is truly terrifying.

Those happy fools. Those who can say, I know who I am, I am a man. I am an American. A Christian.

Those who can find solace and happiness in raising families. Trying to make their children just like them. Trying to make sure that their children can fit into the same archetype that they fell into, and that their father fell into.

That everyone should fit into a generic personality. One of the many archetypes, the stay at home mom, the dad who likes fishin' and huntin' and guns, and god. They know their purpose. Their purpose requires no introspection. They have a mission in life. To reproduce. To serve a deity.
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Would it be easier to be like those fools? Perhaps.

But perhaps they will miss the greatest joys of life. They will find that they cannot live up to societies standards of what a man or woman should be. They will see themselves as failures, and hatred will begin to fuel that previously happy ignorance.

That I know I cannot fail because I am my own person. I exist in my own reality. That I can only measure myself by my own standards. That I have no god to face, only me. And, in the end, I think that is a lot tougher. To look at yourself in the mirror and see if you are happy with who you are, what you have become. To lie on your death bed satisfied. To die content. To accept your own fate and your own history.
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We are all alone. On this level of awareness, we are alone. We only exist inside this band of light. We may share every single part of our lives with another human being, but we can never share this most intimate part of us. The only real part of us. Behind our layers of personality is our soul. Behind our actions, our explanations for life, behind the distractions we create, we are all the same.

We are all so fragile. And alone.
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The only moral thing to do, really, is help each other through this thing, whatever it is. To help one another enjoy this time we have. To share our fears, our hopes, our soul. To love, love with all our power.

To love with the deepest passion we can exude. And to use this love to help others. To save others from this loneliness. From the despair this permanent solitude can cause. To understand each other. To listen. To care.

With Love,
An Unwavering Band of Light