Existential mundanity

At this point in time, existential depression is nothing new. In fact, it’s a common and boring human condition.

We’ve been suffering a collective existential crisis as a species for as long as we’ve been able to write. As long as we’ve been able to think, probably. We’ve invented game, fiction and war to ward off this dreadful curse we’ve acquired as a species.

It all starts with the belief that the body is more than the sum of all its parts: the soul.¹

We pretend we have a soul - this higher consciousness - controlling our lesser instincts and desires. We act out this fiction to avoid the truth that our body is us: the ugly human animal we see before us is where our existence starts and ends.

And yet: we then spend an inexorably long time fighting the idea that despite not existing inside our wasting bodies, we really don’t want to lose them: a fear of death. Our whole life’s journey spent wasting time; figuring out how distract the higher consciousness from thinking about these two simple truths.

Notes