How does a human work? How does it function? That is the most concerning question that any animal has posed. How do the beady-eyed birds see the hairy-faced humans? How doth the walrus perceive the arthropod? This essay will seek to answer this profoundly perplexing question by means of the most academic, discombobulating language possible in this earthly earth.
We shall begin with the man itself, the biped which defies gravity itself by striding along so swaggardly, and with such arrogant grace flips itself over and over with flailing arms.
And what are arms anyways? They are external appendages constructed of several components such as fatty flesh, sanguine blood, and frigid bone. They hang loosely from the shoulder by means of an oiled balljoint that rotates quite happily in a socket smoothed by constant use. The means by which this balljoint rotates can be traced back first to the muscles which surround the socket; contracting and expanding regularly. Secondarily, it can be traced even further back to the electrical nerves which run up the spasmodic channels to the spinal cord, to the root of all neuronic impulses; the brain.
And what is the brain? No one can answer this question with certainty, because the brain has never been seen as it is. For if seen while still alive and functioning, the brain must have–by necessity–been either exposed to the open air, or been subject to the invasion of a mechanical device used for seeing, and therefore would have retreated from said device and reacted to the intruder, thus not allowing us to see it as it naturally functions. The function of the brain is unknown, precisely because that which powers the brain is unknown. Yes, the electrical impulses fire the neurons and cause thought, but what generates the electrical impulses–and what triggers the desire to think in the first place? We do not have a miniature nuclear reactor built into our heads. And even if we did, even a nuclear reactor has to have been made somewhere. What is the primary cause? Whatever it is, it is not visible.
Let us now dive into this invisible cause.
“Woah, woah, slow down!” You say, frightened beyond belief, “I didn’t sign up for this, you frigid woman born of a woman. None of this hanky-janky speculation for me, thank you.” And to you I say, good riddance. Good-bye to you and hello sweet solitude, my old friend.
What is this invisible cause? To answer this, we must first ascertain what the root goal of a human is. What does the race of bipeds strive for, throughout all known history? (On a side note, this idea of “history” is a topic which I will explore in another place and time.) The goal of humans, as perceived by my all-knowing eye, is to attain a position of fluid happiness and affluence, whether in the current time, or the next time. (And what is time, exactly?) Above all things, that which we look for is tenuous comfort. And we strive for this whether we know it or not. All struggles which we endure, all discomfort and strife, is put toward this goal of future comfort. And we do not care so much if we ever attain this comfort. It is the hope of it which fuels our desire to continue synapsing our neurons.
Many people will disagree with this, but that does not phase me, for I disagree with it myself. That’s how it is with all concrete assertions. Everything has something wrong with it. Nothing is perfect, because we do not know what perfection is. Perfection is the second unattainable goal that no one understands, yet everyone wants. The highest state that something can reach on this earth is that which is directly under perfection. A state of uncertainty, because you seem to be better than everyone else, but yet you yourself are aware of some terrible defect in your self that is prohibiting your advance to true perfection. I do not believe anyone has reached this sub-state of perfection, but if someone did, they probably wouldn’t have told anyone. Who could share that weight of being so close, and yet so far?
So, we strive for comfort and perfection, and both are unreachable. Are those the only goals of humanity? Probably not, but they’re the only ones I could think of within the last two minutes, so we shall move on. Why these two goals? What pushes us toward them and not something like, say, power? Power is a great feeling, yes. But when you have great power, is there true peace in that? There is always the chance that it will be taken away from you. Though, to be true, comfort can also be taken away by the next maelstrom to drown the swamplands. (Therein lies another reason why absolute comfort is unattainable.) When you have power, the fate of other men lies in your hands, yet your fate lies in the hands of someone else. This is a precarious situation, and one in which you would constantly be plagued by the fear of this power being wrested from thy sweaty grip. Sweaty and slippery is the slope of which you are so slightly ruling over. The tiny crest that you crow atop of is not truly yours. Yours, that is, without a doubt.
So, these are our goals (not really, but okay, sure.) Why do we have these goals? What pushes us towards them? Surely it is a desire for something we don’t have. Maybe, a desire for what we once had. That would be the only explanation for our inexplicable, unswerving pursuit of the impossible. We tasted it once, and then it was removed from possibility. Now we hunger for the lost impossible. So mankind climbs the vertical ladder with jelly for legs, and noodles for arms. We can’t propel ourselves, so we float in a desperate limbo with devouring eyes, looking at the light so far above our heads. But there are people who climb higher, you say, how do they do this if we have jelly for limbs? There’s a cause behind it that is not human. Those who climb higher are impelled by a magnetic field of above. Drawn not by their own power, but by some otherworldly force. We noodle-like people are acted upon by some other power. Maybe that power is the boiling water that loosened our limbs in the first place. But that boiling water also makes us palatable to the palate of above. Without this power, we’re stiff crackly pasta, until pressure is applied and changes us.
Okay, I think I’ve carried this analogy a little too far. Shall we proceed?
I’d like to explore this otherworldly power.
What exactly is it? Can it be explained? No, because if it could, it wouldn’t be otherworldly. Should we even try to explain it? Or maybe, this is the third goal of humanity: to explain this strange power that exists above us. Maybe, this is the Ultimate Goal of humanity. Everyone knows of this power, and even in the deepest heart of the most hardened horror there is an inkling of something above. Because there wouldn’t be a draw to the dark if there wasn’t a light to counteract it.
Of all the events of history, the one that concerns us the most is the apocalypse. During life, a large amount of time is spent thinking of death. And during death, who knows? Maybe death is just a purer version of life. Maybe when we die, we become alive. In that case, then, why would we fear death? Why cringe away from the very thing that helps you? But on the other hand, we can’t glorify death over life, even if it is the means to a greater Life. A premature death – a death brought about by your own hand – would not accomplish the same thing as if you died at the predetermined time that God Almighty predestined. In that case, you are attempting to make yourself God, and you will not pass on to greater life. Instead you will continue in an eternal death. You kill yourself, you kill yourself forever, and ever.
Ah, but think about it. No death is premature. No event is untimely. No removal of a humanoid form from this material planet is unplanned. God ordains each and every thing that happens, and that includes the people who took the time of their departure upon themselves. And that begs the question, why? Why would God, who ordains everything, ordain that this man would suffer eternal death? Well, let us start with the character of the Immaterial Unbeing.
No! You cry out. I’m sick of humans trying to understand the ununderstandable! Well, I agree with you there. But if you approach it not with the expectation of understanding, but with the expectation of believing, you’ll still have the naggy itch in the back of your mind saying, “But I want to understand,” but you’ll realize your absolute inferiority to even make the claim that you’re capable of understanding. We’ll be able to understand in the future, but not yet.
No matter how weird and convoluted a problem is––if you look at it long enough, it’ll make sense eventually. That’s cause there’s an order underlying everything in this world.
Just remember, under every apparently chaotic event, there is an underlying unseen order
Sometimes you say something and then you think, well that was a broad assumption to make about the fabric of the world. I’ll continue this essay once I get that into my thick head.
Cheers,
Catharine
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