I, Life

Here I am, learning.

The curious thing about life is that it doesn't teach me valuable, motivational lessons for life. Life teaches me life.

Ever since I was a child I wanted it to show me roses in their reddening age, fountains in their Athenian abundance, and the eternal peace of being myself before a smiling, grateful world.

Not knowing who I was, nor who the world was, I wanted to be myself, in spite of the world.

The world clashed with my idea that, by my genetic impulse for life, I was supposed to oppose the world. That collision shrank me. Or rather, I shrank myself, in honor of that collision.

And me opposing the world meant, logically, me opposing myself.

And lo, I denied myself three times. Or maybe a few more.

Then the world spoke to me in a Hollywoodese accent, teaching me to dream of splendid multiverses, lessons for a reality where every chapter ends with a thrilling adventure, its tension kept in check by a happy ending and a wiser, more moral mind.

The first thing I learned in life was that life doesn't care about me at all.

And not because it doesn't know how to love, for love it does.

It is precisely because it loves that it has no favorites.

It is my inexcusable task, and only my inexcusable task, for me, I, to give my life its worth.

It is my intrinsic instinctive duty, as an innate member of humanity, for me, I, to steer my life so that my life endures and the life of humanity spreads on.

Just like that: raw, impeccable, predatory. Welcome to the jungle.

And as I grew up, instead of learning to survive, I learned to lament that life wasn't the way I demanded it be.

That was the second thing I learned: Life is not the way I want it to be. How much of my life will it take me to digest this truth about my life.

The third great obviousness I discovered about life is: Living hurts.

It is inexplicable, incomprehensible, impalpable. But my direct feeling of life recognizes an intensity intolerable to my habitually numbed senses.

Even so, I smile now and then.

Even so, I am happy.

Among the infinitely improbable multiverses possible for life, the center of my existence dwells in a sphere of reality where, out of the quantum Nothing, peace springs forth.

My existence raises its hand and chimes in: "Behold, life is not roses, fountains or colorful worlds. Life is a diverse spectrum of unpeaceful ways to experience peace."

So, I experience peace now and then.

And each chapter comes to teach me. Not lessons: life comes to teach me life.

"I am life, and nothing more." That is all there is to learn. This is the only infinitely probable multiverse.

And I can philosophize, me saying that my Being is spiritual and that my life is a race in which I must catch up with my infinitesimal ego so I can then put on the demonstration of renouncing it, and thus become a spiritual human.

I can tell myself stories that I know the rules of morality by heart and that I appear to follow them, and that therefore I am a good human. And so, me implanting in myself, as an instinctive loyalty, the idea that it is good and desirable, as a direction for life, to explain that I am a good human.

But no matter how much I keep resisting life, life goes on being life. Life goes on teaching life.

No matter how many moral medals I hang on myself, I am still an ape in the jungle who, when all is said and done, has no idea how to live.

So, I keep learning.

And I, gradually exposing how unreal my perception of life is, am learning to live.

To live the rawness, the impeccability and the predation, while I am happy and I experience peace.

That is what all learning teaches: For me to love life. And so, for me to be one with it.

And long live, long live life.

And long live me, for I am precious life.