I have been a lousy blogger of late, my posts have stopped and I have not been around my usual haunts, I have been a little preoccupied with life.

It’s funny how easy it is to sit behind a computer screen, write words, share thoughts and feelings on a level more often than not deeper than we do with those around us every day. How easy it is to develop regular reading haunts, as we get to know our online blogger friends, indeed start to worry about them, give advice and support, share experience and comfort and start to form a kind of virtual network of virtual friends and virtual family.

Yet at the same time how sad is it that the real world slips by?

Through the dead of night we come, we write and we talk, share laughter and music, art and dreams the occasional drink, the perfect moment, safe in our own world yet open in the reality of who we are. Our rawest deepest feelings hanging on the walls for all to see, are deepest darkest thoughts out on display and we come not with judgement, but with kindness and compassion, we offer thought and reflection and intertwine our own existence with those around us.

We worry about our online friends, try to support them at times of need and smile with them at times of happiness and great joy, we share a part of each other that normally we would not see, not in that way.

At the same time how sad is it that we could pass in the street and never speak a word? drink in a bar and never make eye contact? be like strangers passing in the night, never knowing what lays beneath the image of the person we pass?

It’s that word again for me……IMAGE…..how it plagues my Nausea and troubles my thoughts.

I have been busy of late, lost in the world of my own nausea, battling with Camus and Sartre, battling with me and existence.

Its like I have existed all my life, yet I have never really been here, never really saw the reality of the moment always just waiting for something to begin.

My thoughts are following two paths but in a different way.

On the one hand I am seeing the rawness of existence.

“Every existent is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness and dies by chance.”

Looking at things this way uncomplicates the complex and breaks down the absurdness of the reality in which we live, yet at the same time serves only to explain it, a process of justification that I must break free from.

“Trees did not want to exist, only they could not help it; that was the point. So they performed all their little functions, quietly, unenthusiastically, the sap rose slowly and reluctantly in the canals, and the roots penetrated slowly into the earth. But at every moment they seemed on the verge of dropping everything and obliterating themselves. Tired and old, they went on existing, unwilling and ungraciously, simply because they were too weak to die, because death could come to them only from the outside:”

To exist is simply to be there; what exists appears, lets itself be encountered, but you can never deduce it. People have tried to understand that, only they try to overcome this contingency by inventing a necessary, causal being. But no necessary being can explain existence: contingency is not an illusion, an appearance which can be dissipated; it is absolute, and consequently perfect gratuitousness. Everything is gratuitous. When you realise that it turns your stomach over and everything starts floating about.

People try to hide from themselves with their idea of rights. But what a poor lie: nobody has any rights; they are entirely gratuitous, like other people, they cannot succeed in not feeling superfluous. And in themselves, secretly, they are superfluous, that is to say amorphous and vague, sad.

Image rears its head once more, but the origin of image in the justification of man for the pointlessness of existence.

You can’t even wonder where it all came from, or how it is that a world can exist rather than nothing. It does not make sense, the world is present everywhere, in front, behind. There had been nothing before it. Nothing. There had been no moment at which it might not have existed. Naturally there is no reason for it to exist. But it is not possible for it not to exist, in order to imagine nothingness, you have to be there already, right in the world, with your eyes wide open and alive; nothingness is just an idea in the head, an existing idea floating in immensity, nothingness hasn’t come before existence, it was an existence like any other and one which appeared after a great many others.

So on the other hand faced with such profound thought I have to ask, surely existence must have a purpose, a reason or am I just once again getting mixed up in image, to justify the pointlessness of the very thing that keeps us here? Existence?

And all of these existents, came from nowhere and were going nowhere. All of a sudden they existed and then, all of a sudden, they no longer existed.

Existence has no memory; it retains nothing of what has disappeared; not even a recollection. Existence, everywhere, to infinity, superfluous, always and everywhere; existence – which is never limited by anything but existence.

Is existence then just simply here, with no purpose, no reason or is there more to it? For so long I have been wandering blind, seeing without seeing, image, justification tools of the blind. I have to make it count, image or justification but in so much pointlessness does it really matter?


~ by Duma Key on January 25, 2013.

2 Responses to “Existence”

  1. YOU matter that’s what counts and I have a feeling Duma you are going to be just fine. As you discover how to SEE and Live in the Now of existence. 🙂 from my phone. And you just caught me before I LIVE outside the PC world for a few days. Love light and Peace. And this was an excellent post as you are discovering your soul on Earth 🙂 Sue x0x

  2. Gee D – when you are gone from here – I wonder how you are ‘out there’ and yes – I worry because I want you to find that balance between where you can be free and where you feel you can’t be…

    In this place – here in this blog world – I used to find the only freedom available to me.

    Now even here, in this world, I often pause in case certain people feel they have the right or the need to influence or control how and when I choose to express myself.

    Just like the outside world used to always be for me.

    Does that make this place or the outside place less real?

    I could only have met you here – you and I would have passed one another in the street on our way to where each of us happened to be going and I would have missed out on all that you have shared here – I would never have been able to see you this way and I would have never known how loving and kind – how dedicated and loyal – how deeply thoughtful and intelligent you are…

    You must have always been this way but – until I met you here – for me – you didn’t exist.

    I didn’t exist either – not really.

    You made me a reality by accepting that I was real – someone who existed and was, thereafter, a sentient being who in turn also accepted your reality as though you were called into being the moment we recognized one another as belonging to the moment of ‘real’ we had shared.

    I agree with the above comment – this was an excellent post and I will add that I have worried and have missed you but I also understand the duality of the lives we all lead.

    There are many worlds we can be a part of and many others we can alter by sharing what we know of our own.

    I consider you part of the world I live in here – I wish I could meet you in the outside world one day if only to assure you that you are you no matter what world you feel the need to spend the most time in.


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