I have began writing a large percentage of my entries with a blank mindset with spontaneous bouts of whatsit to write--anything, nay, specifically, all about me and satirical thoughts and err, sometimes philosophical, but mostly about random cerebral synapses and neural speculations on whatever triggers my memories through the medium of, yes, words. Succinctly, if I were to write honestly the first sentence of my entries it will begin like this: I have nothing to write. But because thinking of the statement Do not think of a blue banana makes me think of a blue banana, I thus am compelled to write of the antithesis of nothing, which is something or anything, or everything besides vacuity. It could be senseless, it could be blah, it could be about my booger or my shit or my mother or my armpit hair, anything except nothing, be it superficial or profoundly staggering. After a few seconds of cogitating on the opposite of nothingness something out of nothing springs out of my mind and traverses from my brain through my nervous system down my fingertips tapping on the keyboard to be transcribed onto the screen and published into this senselessly blabbering blog.

My sister narrated that when I was little child, I was attached to my nanny more than to our mother that I treated my nanny my mother and my mother my nanny. Whenever my nanny tried to leave the house I'd wail incessantly that she'd be forced to take me with her to her house down stream for her monthly nanny-break. I clung onto her like a baby gorilla while her real children cried and tugged her skirt with envy. My real mother on the other hand, was, pardon, I don't know what her role was.XP She minded our business and while I was an infant, nursed me only when I cried for milk or wet my diapers during the night--nay, lampin pa tawag don noon, for diapers was still in beta testing.XD Nevertheless, not a trace of this memory left me as I blinked stunned and stupefied and unbelieving when my sister told me this little sidenote.

The Heterogeneity and Homogeneity of the I

One key feature that I've noticed between predominant world religions and atheism is the world view of the I. The "I" or the ego is wildly an unfathomable concept for people like myself who have studied world religions meticulously while I scoured for "God" and the Absolute Answer to all the doubts and questions neither my parents, professors, nor religion could resolve. There is a cornucopia of world views of why man is here and what his purpose and role is in the world as much as there are electrons in the universe.

In Paganism, Gnosticism, Hellenism, Taoism, Zen, as in Buddhism, knowing thyself unlocks the knowledge of the universe. In Christianity, Islam, and Muslim, knowing God through Jesus Christ (which is the same God of the same "person" and yet any smattering of God is of course invious and impossible; how else is to understand "Him"?) is the sole way of knowing thyself. In astrophysics, studying the cosmos undermines and belittles this seemingly insignificant mote of dust called the Earth, suspended on one arm of an obscure whirling galaxy called the Milky Way thus placing man in a more insignificant position in this incomprehensibly limitless although scientifically finite universe. (But of course, not all cosmological world view is like this.) In quantum physics, studying the very quintessence of the basic building blocks of matter--energy--generates a similar feeling to that of Eastern religions when contemplating on the homogeneity of the All, and of biology when reflecting on the same carbon atoms that comprise all living things: that we are made of the same stuff however you put it: star stuff, carbon stuff, energy stuff, et cetera, and that the individuality and definition of the I is a mere illusion.

But for atheists like myself, though not all atheists think the same, the concept of the I suffices when I study this wondrous World and my Self simultaneously as I get to know more about myself, my singularity amidst billions of other egos flocking this planet, and the plurality and homogeneity of myself immersed in a similarly stuffed world.

Religious sounding physicists say the universe is but made of two things: energy and dark matter, and of energy, consciousness is the sole defining property that sets a periphery to the ego. To put, consciousness is, yes, an illusion, but when thinking in the relativity of consciousness, or, in other words, when you're thinking consciously of consciousness, consciousness is true in itself, for the veracity of any concept is relative anyway. I think that I am alive, but outside this thought pattern residing in the brain, I am just as alive as the rocks and the trees and the maggots festering on carcasses six feet beneath the ground. When I'm dead, I shall be alive in the earth. Existence is indefinite; Rene Descartes is a charlatan; the ego is just as conceptual as the consciousness of a chair; a chair exists however perceived or not perceived at all; that every thing exists, only that some things exist more than other things.

Word did you say?

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