What a perfect way to end a wonderfully relaxing day: listening to The Cure while reading the Sandman.

So. David’s friends apparently don’t believe I exist.

That started me thinking.


Sorry for that interjection. The Sex Pistols are playing.

The only existence we can honestly say we are certain of is our own.

“I think, therefore I am.”

It doesn’t necessarily apply to everyone and everything else in our lives.

We think of them, therefore they are.

But for all we know, these people, these things, only exist because we do, or because we think they do.

We could all be dreaming. We could be bodiless projections of consciousness, populating our dream worlds because we feel lonely, because we are aware on some level that we are truly alone. We could be God, recreating the world each time we go to sleep.

I am reminded of a Hindu story I heard in my philosophy of religion class at Santa Monica College. It is a tale for children. It is meant to spur confidence. It essentially drives home the notion that we are God.

I am a poor story-teller, so I will only relate the bare bones of the tale.

In the beginning, there was only God. Whether from boredom, or from loneliness, He began to weave a story. But He placed himself IN it. Eventually He became so engrossed in His story that He forgot He had created it at all. This is how the world was created. It’s a dream. It’s a story. And it is completely contingent upon Him.

We are God. The lives we lead are totally contrived. We’ve just simply forgotten who we are, but once we regain this knowledge, we can do anything. Anything is possible. And we don’t have to live with fear.

I’ll have to track down that little yarn, so that I can tell it in full. It’s much more beautiful than I portray it, and I remember feeling a surge of peace after absorbing the full meaning of it.

I have always found the eastern religions to be more my speed, specifically Buddhism and Hinduism. They always seemed to make more sense, though they first sounded strange to me, with my western Catholic upbringing. Strange, yet also very beautiful and alluring.

A depressing aspect of the above tale is that it does tell us we are really alone. Whatever else exists only because of us; we are the only thing that is real. But I think many of us realize this on our own. Sometimes the only thing we can only be sure of is our own minds.

No one, no matter how close they get, will ever be able to read my mind. No one will ever be able to fathom the depth or breadth of my thoughts and feelings, and I’ll never truly understand the workings of another person’s. In some ways, we will always be strangers to one another.


And on a lighter note:

Christian Bale is one sexy son-of-a-bitch. Yeowzah.

However, he doesn’t have a whole lot of “lippage.” But that’s OK. I can overlook that because I have enough “lippage” for the both of us. ;]

I’m hoping for sweet dreams tonight. Haha.

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