lucky

i exist to be alive, there is no other purpose and that is not a purpose but a physical reality. organs nerves, flesh and bone animated and strung together with complex amino acids flung against a wall of sensation and from that a neurological receptor aggregates and coalesces around the tissues and there evolves the sensations and the reactions and the eons of imprinting through billions and billions of experiences all tossed into the unconsciousness of existence, the belly of suffering and fear from which we flee into unending fantasies, imagining experiences that do not exist. we sleep unaware yet reacting to the trillions of neurons activating shared subconsciousness and twitch until the life in us resurges and surfaces to the physical reality we are chained to. this is the reality of the spirit, the unending pain of being imprisoned not exalted in the body of a beast. take pleasure and suffer divinely they say but what is that but lies, all lies from every corner they tell stories that have no reality for the true sufferer of the spirit, for there is no seeking only suffering. the soul awaits and has no way through that door, until it is opened for him. no pleading or acting or perfecting will create anything. the door does not open from here. you are alone and there is no one watching to see if your doing it right or wrong, just you making it what it is for you. the only truth is there is none, the lucky die happy, the rest just die.