Third period religion class. I sat quietly with my classmates. The Knowledge told us to clear our desks of everything. "Answer this question," he said. "What is real? How do you know?"
I hate those questions.
Of course he challenges us on purpose, and I don't mind it in the least. But there is something about answering questions like these that makes me furious. It might be the fact that I am human. Let me explain my reasoning.
In answering those first questions, I thought of the concept of time. What is it? Who decided it was going to be as it is? Why should I have to follow it? Time is just all. It is a continuous thread. There is no night and day. Or years or hours.
Then I begin to think of society as a human. Humans have this urge to suction themselves to structure. Our lives must be this way. This should be like this. You should look like this. You must follow this. This is how it must be. Or what? Or we die.
Not likely.
Humans are so incredibly dependent on everything to live. What if I didn't look at a clock for an entire day. Guess what. I don't believe I would die.
I sat at my desk not defining what is real. I defined what is not real.
I came to this conclusion:
Our lives are not real. Our world is not real. My thoughts are not real. If they are, then who says so?
These questions stretch my limits.
No comments:
Post a Comment