Imagine if you will, just for one moment, that consciousness in its most natural, primal state, is meant to be free of physical constraint, the temperance of time, the limits of biological corporeality. Instead of giving us life, these bodies of ours are prisons, they encapsulate the impossibility of sentience, and restrain its potential for a deeper understanding of the nature of the supposed real.
Being human takes a full-time commitment, and once you’ve opted in, you’ve no choice but to play along. Some lose themselves, and truly believe that this world, this humanity of ours, is the be all and end all of consciousness. But they’re wrong, the body is merely the vehicle, it carries the engine of the mind, the transceiver of thought, the fuel that we must feed on to continue our philosophical experience.
Of course, we could always dip in and out, if we were insects, or plants and trees, or rocks atop mountains and deep beneath the sea. We could choose to ignore the totality of the situation and simply focus on the basics, energy, reproduction, mineral decay, chemical reaction, gravitational excess. Then again, who knows, a cut flower might feel the same degree of pain as we do, or worse. We aren’t built to share in their experience, we are meant only to reflect on all around us from the centre of our universe. The pupil of the eye, the mechanics of God, the tricks we play upon ourselves to keep our chins up, and our eye on the perpetual dawn of a new horizon.
It’s painful really, we’re bullies. There’s nothing on Earth that can beat us but ourselves, which we do so most regularly. Yet we punish all forms of life, including our own, to all manner of excruciating ordeals. It’s a shame it takes death to teach human consciousness that it really isn’t the be all and end all of intelligence and emotion. Maybe that’s the point, as long as the human race is left in the dark, it can never truly reflect upon its own horror, and the inescapable truth that collectively, we do more harm than good.