a reply to: Profusion
Hey pro,,, A while back I invented a little mantra for myself that goes "Just because it's all an illusion does not mean it is not real." There, for
what it is worth.
there's no way to know for sure if anything outside of one's personal experience is real.
I posted this in another thread a few days ago and thought you might like to read it. It concerns my own wrestling with the existential question you
raise above. So with the mods permission I will post it here. Mind you this is for amusement purposes and in no way should be taken as how one should
face their own existential crisis's.
Classic I-thou existential dilemma. So let me tell you a short story of my ventures into these depths.
I was 17 when I was first asking these questions. One night, my younger brother by two years were having a talk in our bedroom and it curved into some
of these questions, these deep questions that at time plague us all. Well I ventured into this one with him and even though he was only 15 he knew
exactly what I was taking about. Anyway, it went on for about two hours, this conversation. It was amazing to me that he had also given consideration
to these questions of existence. As the two hours drew to a close and it was time to go to sleep, I was in awe of my brother and found that I had had
my first real adult, grown up philosophical conversation and it had been with my best friend, my brother.
So at that point I had to go take a pee and told him I would be right back. As I left the bedroom and got into the hall I all of a sudden was filled
with existential fear. Where a moment before I had awoken to the realization that I was not alone in my thoughts, that indeed my brother had also had
the some thoughts, I now as I walked down the hall was faced with the reality of my own fears. That my brother, my only link with this deeper self of
independent thinking, might, if these suppositions were true reality, that he might be nothing more than a figment of my own imagination were ground
shaking. That as I walked out the door and left the vicinity of that conversation, that he would just blink out of existence until I returned to cause
him to blink back was shattering. SHATTERING.
So I quivered as I peed and trepetitiously, filled with fear that maybe, if he was really only a figment of my own imagination, might not be there
when I returned, I walked back to the bedroom. That maybe somehow just realizing that he might be a figment, could be enough to pop the illusion and I
would be without a brother because he was nothing but my own illusions after all.
So as I came back into the room I was an existential wreak, at 18. Was he gone? No. Was he sitting on his bed like he had been when I left. No. He,
knowing exactly how I would be thinking as I left the room, was standing on top of our dresser, posed in a position resembling the famous sculpture
'winged victory', and completely naked. COMPLETELY NAKED.
In that second of seeing him like that, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I, even in my most creative dreams, could not have made that up. Could
not have anticipated that completely 'left field' concoction. My mind settled, my fears dispelled and I never again thought that it might all be just
a figment of my own divine illusion.
And that was all 50 years ago.