2003.11.07 The Meaning Of Life?

Stolen from an old conversation I had with Freehand:

Pain. The meaning of life, as best I can tell, is pain.

Very few are the moments of radiant-clear joy that endure as defining moments in life. Far more numerous, and usually more poignant, are the memories of trouble and distress that shape us in our own minds. Why should this be?

I say that it is because pain itself is the underlying reason for our existence. My mind smells a scent of truth in the Buddhist thought that life is suffering, and then you die. Not to imply in any way that there is a sadistic creator. No, if there is another existence beyond this crude material world we find ourselves in, I think that almost certainly means that the pain we suffer in our lives is self-inflicted. Indeed, I think that it may be we live our lives precisely for the pain inherent therein. Nothing illuminates the feeling of being truly alive like pain, or potential for pain. It shapes us, and teaches us, and defines our existence. While pain can end us, surviving it is what gives us the perspective required to truly appreciate all that is wondrous and joyful.

Thus, I think that pain should not be abhorred or regretted. Instead, it should be respected, and we should be thankful for what it can give us. For I truly think that the way to enjoy life is to endure pain - as one endures stitches in one's side while they laugh hilariously.