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  • Love…

    Love…

    Love is the greatest sin. It is that which, as it trembles within your cold and lonely self, brings the sun into being in the blink of an eye. It is what brings the ever-distant god—darkened by your eyes—right before you. It is a moment, a fleeting glimpse, a transient feeling. It is a ritual you swear you won’t perform every night, yet every morning you do it again. It is a verse on the page of holy books, the reason for your heartbeat, the irrationality of your mind. Love is everything you have rejected.

    Even if he wanted to, he woke up without thinking of anything else. Seeing her portrait on the ceiling, he smiled. He closed his eyes—not to see, but to feel; to repeatedly conjure his dream in his mind. He thought, “There is a moment”—the moment when logic takes command of the mind and forces its focus back onto life to fulfill its obligations, the very moment when one struggles to stay in bed. He had known since the first moment of the day that the reality of life would kill his imagined happiness. And that knowing would offer no solution either…

    Love is like a belief. It is an experience in which you disregard the truths you think you know, become ensnared by an idea, and leave behind a person you no longer recognize when you look back. It is an experience where you lose your capacity for rational thought and find meaning amidst all absurdities, binding the entire purpose of your life to that person.

    In the home where he realized he knew nothing, he unconsciously completed his necessary routines and took his first step into streets of which he was unaware. He was walking yet not seeing, thinking yet knowing nothing; his mind was like that of a prisoner straining to catch sight of the moon through the bars of a cell window. By the time he noticed the smile on his face, he had long since left home.

    Is loving and being in love the same thing? We feel someone like being struck by a violent lightning bolt, and soon that intensity diminishes, giving way to a less forceful but enduring state of emotion—the continuity of which defines our idea of love. We eventually come to realize that everything we remember about our relationships, after a certain time, consists only of the meanings we imposed on the other during its most intense phase.

    As he passed by, he trusted people who, like little ants, moved along; he found them close to him, and he respected the bitter stories hidden within their monotonous exteriors. For the first time, he felt close to society—rejecting the notion that they had marginalized him—and he no longer imagined a scenario where he was excluded. The place of his thoughts, once estranged from life, had changed. How was it that the society from which he had long separated himself had now embraced him?

    Our effort to find our place within society might be limited to one person; when we harbor intense feelings for that right individual, we shatter those chains and have long since carved a niche for ourselves within them. Breaking our chains is intertwined with love; if we feel that overwhelming emotion toward someone, our romance extends to all of humanity.

    He took a deep breath as if he had never done so before, letting the excitement—fueled by his accelerating heartbeat—allow him to feel once more the melody of his heart. The lyrics of a song converged into a single name, constraining the freedom of his thoughts. He thought, “A life worth living for her, things in life so precious that they are experienced only a few times…” Is love an entity that creates things worth living for, or merely a phenomenon? All he knew was that, deep within his soul, there were things that poisoned him—things worth living for. The image that haunted his mind, the longing without limits, the admiration he felt for every word that left her lips, the love he held for her presence—all of it merged into the singular dynamic of his thoughts.

    Was love the unattainable desire? When we reach the person we long for, will we ever feel emotions as intense as before? Perhaps it was a reflection of the profound emotional burden that the sorrow of unattainability imposes on the human mind. Maybe our goals themselves are mere pursuits of that desire, which is why, even upon reaching them, we never achieve satisfaction—we always feel something is missing, the determination we lost along the way. Determination, love, hope, path, goal… all are, in essence, the deep sorrow of unattainability.

    She always appeared before his eyes as a silhouette so near, yet in truth she was so far away as to be unattainable. Perhaps he was being deceived by love; could it be that the intense emotional state wrought by humanity was misleading him? He had been deceived, by a passion so intense… Perhaps humanity’s fundamental flaw lies in its inability to recognize when it is being deceived. With senses shutting down in dark alleys and thoughts awakening within them, he moved forward. What had he done today? He had thought of her… so fragile that he remained oblivious to the rule of life.

    What is it that makes love, love? Is it the burst of emotional intensity that quickens our heartbeat and perhaps creates an identity for the person we love—a persona that may never truly belong to them, shaped by the meanings we assign? A burst that seems endless at first, but eventually gives way to habit.

    The first thing he noticed upon entering his home was that he still had not awakened. He had been lulled to sleep by love and roused by love. He was treading the liminal line, worshiping hell, and hating heaven… Love is that which transforms our hell into heaven and diminishes the irresistible pull toward the distant gates of paradise; perhaps love is the most beautiful dream of all.

  • Today I Read A Post…

    Today I Read A Post…

    People are always talking—but does that mean what’s being said is meaningful? Everyone voices an opinion on something, a direct result of the freedom of speech that the digital age has bestowed upon us. But how useful is it that everyone talks? Just as people aren’t all equal, every sentence uttered should vary according to whose frame of reference we adopt. Do I enjoy the same freedom of speech as a primate? Of course not—words that leave one mouth and enter another’s mind can never be equal in the thoughts they provoke. This is a fact dependent on who’s speaking, and one we all tacitly accept. But when people speak on digital platforms—or when those who feel compelled to vent hatred at us reach our screens—do the thoughts they stir within us differ as well?

    Today I read a post from a Frenchman claiming I’m a fool, and it caught my attention. Where did he get that idea? What could have led him to think so? Does France’s so‑called liberal right to speak endorse this kind of baseless chatter? Does he think that by writing that, he’s spoken truly freely? Indeed, people—and the rights we grant them to speak—can be very peculiar. Or consider the freedom of speech born of woke culture: how absurd is it that those who see themselves as outsiders constantly assume the right to criticize? Excluded from society, they proceed to condemn everyone unlike themselves without end, donning the mantle of self‑appointed defenders of rights. People are strange.

    Humanity’s greatest problem is its struggle to find a place within society: everyone tries to plant themselves in the seat allotted to them within a group, and the moment they belong, they begin to behave just like everyone else. Perhaps humanity is far more ignorant than we imagine, since each person understands only as much as they wish, never even considering the rest. Perhaps we each express our rebellion against life in this very way. Everyone lies in wait to accuse someone or unleash their hatred. One of the digital age’s gravest ills is the social violence and hate speech we inflict on one another. As products of cancel culture, people who have amoebified themselves now spew meaningless words that differ not one bit from the irritating gnats buzzing in our ears.

  • Everything Flows…

    Everything Flows…

    I am changing, we are changing. Change is the inevitable truth of existence. We strive—often without realizing it—to adapt to life’s ever-changing conditions. Everything flows… one never steps into the same river twice. We despise humanity, daring enough to claim that everything comes from fire, following in the footsteps of Heraclitus. We go to a temple, worship in order to think, and sanctify ourselves by escaping from humanity.

    We do not wish to be understood but to express. We fear that if we are understood, we will be considered one among the masses; from the peak of our intellectual ivory tower, we look down on everyone. We read, and we try to make what we read our reality. We believe, trusting the truths we think we know, for we understand that if we do not have faith in information, we cannot inscribe it into our minds. We feel secure in a room surrounded by books, yet we fear the realities beyond its walls. When we are convinced that the room will transform us, we also know that nothing will ever change.

    We are growing old, time flows… Aging is a form of change; with each passing day, the romance in our reflection evolves. We become increasingly numb to life’s meaninglessness, yet perhaps as we age, we long to believe even more. We sense that the ease of learning we enjoyed in our youth has dulled, and that letting go of our beliefs has become ever more difficult. We miss our daring youth.

    Life is in constant flow. Even if we isolate ourselves from society, we see the changes in our surroundings. It is as if, having spent our entire lives in a primitive African tribe, we remain alien to change. We struggle to discern the multiplicity around us. We are overwhelmed by the abundance of plurality, and we find no other recourse but to repeatedly seek refuge in ourselves just to breathe. We are in a state of constant change, yet the reality we yearn for is always found in the existence and nothingness within our mother’s womb. Perhaps that is why our most peaceful—and simultaneously most restless—moments reside in our bare self, hidden under the blanket in the darkness of night.

    Constant change, a life of infinite possibilities, our non-existent idea of what to do, the persistent feeling of inadequacy, our inability to make sense of what we read… Perhaps the golden rule of life is to grasp a few of the continuously flowing thoughts. If we hold on, maybe we can halt change; if we hold on, perhaps we can be happy…

  • Paradise and Hell, and the Invention of Falsehood

    Paradise and Hell, and the Invention of Falsehood

    Paradise was neither there nor here; Paradise was the sound echoing within my ears. Paradise is the truth questioned before my eyes. Paradise is my ignorance’s attempt to feel special. Paradise is the refusal to accept solitude in the universe. Paradise is the species to which I belong, distinct from the animals I sought yet never found. Paradise is the bliss of the falsehoods in the sacred scriptures I have read.

    Hell is my home. Hell is the dark thoughts dwelling in my mind. Hell is the forbidden love from which escape is impossible. Hell is the mirror reflection of the self experienced anew with each awakening. Hell is the collection of memories of a self unrecognizable with every passing day. Hell is the loneliness destined to be felt after death. Hell is the darkness that ensues once the lights are turned off. Hell is everything that prompts thought.

    Falsehood permeates everything. Falsehood is the impulse at the very core of rendering existence livable. In its time, Falsehood was my ancestors—hidden among the bushes—rising onto two legs to encounter life. Falsehood is the initial thought of a brain that awakens once idle hands, engaged while standing on firm ground, are set to use. Falsehood is the daily act of worship performed to heighten the desire to live. Just as happiness would remain elusive without falsehood, so too would the discovery of purpose. Falsehood was an invention; falsehood was the greatest necessity.

  • God Is Zero

    God Is Zero

    God is zero. God is the beginning, the zero in the universe’s first second. He is our ever-absent coefficient of cognition. He is the quest for meaning in the equality we use in mathematical equations. He is the nothingness in a universe where nothingness does not exist. He is the a priori knowledge within everything. He is the eternal reality indicated by all adjectives. He is both within and outside the cosmos—not a consciousness, but consciousness itself. His memory is infinite; everything happens through him. He has no thought, yet he is responsible for the formation of every thought we have. He is unaware of us, yet everywhere we look we receive word of him.

    He did not emerge in Mesopotamia; he exists in time itself. He is not simple enough to be exploited by humans for their own purposes. He has his own laws and rules. He is both the beginning and the end of change. Everything comes into being through his transformation. The only thing we know is that he is the unit of our understanding of order amid a chaos. Everything has come together at once, yet he is not one; he is zero. Zero is sacred because it exists solely as the beginning.

    The nonexistence of something does not mean it is not there; that something is part of nature, and it is within our power to bring it into existence. Just as we cannot imagine what we do not perceive, we try to liken to that which we perceive those things about which we have not found the slightest evidence. Since what we perceive is nature, we have no other reference system than nature for the things we seek. The human mind is too limited to comprehend infinity because the fundamental coefficient of our axiomatic thought is zero—and zero is our cognition, our god.