WHY ARE WE HERE? PART ONE

Until a few days ago this question - "Why are we here?" would have been a topic I wouldn't have been able to post. I tried asking that question of friends, but every time they looked at me like I was crazy. One friend said, "we're here because we are - it's simple biology". Another said - "it's not something I think about".

But when a MD asks the same question, and publishes an article on the subject, I figure that rather changes things. Robert Lanza, M.D. posted the following article: "Why Are We Here - A New Theory May Hold The Missing Piece".

A better title might be: "What Is The Meaning of Life?" Something I know from the 1970's was a common question.

Even Dr. Lanza's article leaves much to be desired.I quote from his article the following as an introduction:

"Why do you happen to be alive on this lush little planet with its warm sun and coconut trees? And at just the right time in the history of the universe? The surface of the molten earth has cooled, but it's not too cold. And it's not too hot; the sun hasn't expanded enough to melt the Earth's surface with its searing gas yet. Even setting aside the issue of being here and now, the probability of random physical laws and events leading to this point is less than 1 out of 100,000,000,000,000,000,000, 000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000, equivalent to winning every lottery there ever was."

Well, I have a further twist to this question, one that has been an obsession to me for years. 


Why now? 


On the cosmic clock I'm here and gone for approximately one micro-nano second... when considering the age of the universe.  Already billions of light-years have passed since "the Big Bang", when the universe was created. And yet here I am, now, cognizant of my existence; aware of my existence. Why???

 I believe, to be aware of my existence at this moment in time means there is something about me that exists beyond my past and present. How else would I be aware of my being here now? When essentially, I'm already dead and buried. Perhaps someday to be dug up by archeologists and examined. My life speculated about.

And what would they find?

My teeth would tell them I was brought up and raised in the NE of America. That I was well nourished and ate a variety of foods. It would tell them I was of European descent, most likely born in what was called the USA in the 20th century. That for several years after turning twenty I did manual labor, and then oddly, that changed around age 45 when I seem to have become sedentary.  It appears my diet changed. My lifestyle changed. That by age 55 I was suffering from several as yet unknown medical conditions. Chemical analysis might find evidence of alcohol and tobacco use,  and past use of cannabis. Of the three it might be curious why I appeared to favor the first two drugs... and why cannabis, which would have been far safer and more therapeutic was less used.

I might become the great debate as to what the norm was for people living during the 19th and 20th century. A thousand years from now, they might speculate that the addictive nature of alcohol and tobacco trumped the use of cannabis, and they would wonder why. A determination would be made that I had grown up well nourished, but succumbed to addiction to alcohol and tobacco. They would wonder why. They would wonder what happened to me after age 45 that I was sedentary.   That perhaps I was imprisoned. 

I doubt they could draw any conclusive evidence of life in my years that would make sense. And I concur. 

My blogs would be long gone. Most virtual online data would be long gone, and much written material would be scarce. My world would have ended in a mysterious explosion; a nuclear Armageddon perhaps.

What haunts me now, and will haunt me until the day I die is why am I aware of my existence presently? Why am I stuck in this time and place? Why are some of the most poignant changes and threats humankind has ever had to deal with occurring now? Have others in the past felt the same? Does every generation have those who wonder why? Why now? Why am I here?

Why are we aware of our existence - how is that possible, and will it simply end one day, for us, for what we think is a long and often painful existence? How can we know what we know now, unless something spiritual continues beyond our death? On the cosmic clock I am already born and deceased. I am an anomaly.  

If there is a Part Two I hope to further explore my existence. But I have to wonder if it's worth my time. My time which seems to be owned and controlled by others. 

There was a time it wasn't that way... or so it seemed at the time. That time was when I was in my 20's...  a time that seems so unreal now, so out of place. A time i keep going back to, time and again. A time that haunts me... a time where I had what's called "personal power", which for many years I've been without.

I can't help but consider friends who took their own life: suicide, it's called. And friends that died tragic deaths. I can't help but think of the madness that seems to encompass me, especially political madness, prejudice and slavery.

Of senseless murders, wars, persecutions.

I am you could say paralyzed to move on. Locked within myself. Able to look out and wonder why?

I also know, my reality is subjective. That my belief in a past, present and future is just one form of reality. I know this because in my "media list" is a book by Benjamin Whorf: about the Hopi Indians and their view of reality. The Hopi believed "there is that which was, and that which is in the process of becoming". The present and future is one. 

If that would have been the reality I was raised to believe I would not be stuck now. I would believe there is that which I experiences, and that which I now have within my power to live and change. But I don't feel that. I feel stuck, in my present. I feel enslaved by a society that has a fixed believe in what reality is. 

What those archeologists may not know is that what legal choices I had in life.  What the penalties were for those who didn't do as they were told. That a 40 hour plus work week was required, unless one was lucky enough to be born to wealth or stardom.

They would also not know that once I was a star.  A bright star. 

Now, or then, all they may see is a black hole. A quantum anomaly.

A mystery.