The meaning of Life


I am in New York.

Walking the streets, arriving at the southern tip of Manhattan and step right off. I step of solid ground and fall straight down into the water.
The crystal clear water embrace me, I can see far off into the distance. The steep beachline next to me, going far down into the depth of the ocean and I start grasping for something to hold on to.
But the sand is not solid enough. It can’t hold my weight. When I grasp for it, it slips through my fingers. Leaving me floating in the water.
I start to panic but realize that my search for security will not work.

I let go.

Give up.

I start sinking to the bottom, moving out, away from the shoreline. I realize that this is it. Nothing within me try to resist it, nothing keep the fight for survival up.
And just when I’m starting to run out of oxygen, I wake up.

I wake up, get up from bed and start my morning routine. I make my bed, get in the shower. I get dressed and make my breakfast smoothie. I sit down for a thirty minute meditation. Drink my smoothie. Brush my teeth, pack my lunch. Put my jacket on and leave for work.
The entire morning at home, the hours at work, when I brush my teeth, meditate or write e-mails to my customers. When I talk to my co-workers or listen to my new favourite music, Mogwai, it is there.

The feeling of having died.

I can’t say what would have happened if it was real. Had my instinct to live made me struggle for survival? Had the reflex kicked in to do whatever it takes to keep on going to the extent that nothing else would have been left in my conciousness?
I can only answer that if it would happen.

But what I think about those long, long hours is the meaning of it all. What is really the point in living?
And before I go further into this, I just want to make clear that I have never had the thought of ending my life, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I can’t find any kind of meaning in life.

People always speak about the meaning of things. The cause of it. That we must find something meaningful to do, find what meaning is for ourselves. Ask what the meaning of life is. When I read the blog post on Elixir (swedish only), I get inspired to think more about this. But I can still not find a reason.

Life do not have meaning. Life is completely meaningless. All the reasons we can find is the ones we have created, made up.

Because, there is no reason or cause for the tree to grow. No reasons to get up in the morning. No reason that we have a job or that the sun is shining.

Trees grow because trees grow. That is the reason. It’s only cause. I get up in the morning because I get up in the morning. I work because I work. End of story. And as the philosopher Alan Watts once said, just like an apple tree apples, the world we live in peoples.
We can say we work to survive. But that is really the meaning of surviving? Why should that be so important? And if it isn’t important to survive, work has no meaning. At least not one we can prove. That is why we can look at animals and wonder what purpose they serve. Feel that it must be extremely boring to be a cow and stand on a meadow eating grass all day. But it is really only boring for someone who try to find purpose, looking for some fun. The cow does not have those concepts, it just do what it does until it doesn’t.

Why is it not enough to say that we work because we work. And that we will continue to do so until we no longer don’t. Then, we’ll do something else, or nothing at all.

It might sound horrible. Too much. Depressing. But when everything is meaningless, I feel a strange kind of freedom.

Meaninglessness is suddenly very meaningful.