How did we learn, through times, to ignore what is predictable without fail, i.e. our own demise? Or, aided by "blessed ignorance", have we not learnt yet that the inevitable is lurking at us? Could it be that our conscience did figure out how to live with the knowledge of our ultimate fate!? Then what is the trick that keeps us going? Is it "religion"? Is it the suppressive power of our brain? …An unarticulated hope that at the end somehow it all will turn out well?
If light and dark moments indeed have a reason other than whimsical brain chemistry, is it the subconscious awareness of death that sucks the light out of the moment? Could it be that ultimately ignoring death is what provides the fabric of happiness for us?
Taking it to the extreme, does it really matter if we feel that our life has a purpose or, that perceived purpose is a mere illusion? Could this whole life be simply a random ripple in the great nothingness that eventually will be consumed by the immense spiritual emptiness of the Universe?
These nagging questions and desperate uncertainties comprise the Mystery of life. Could it be that the jealously guarded purpose of our very existence is to find the key to this mystery? Scores of religions, philosophers and scientists have embarked on journeys to find the Rosetta Stone to life’s greatest “unknown”, its purpose; some having claimed success. But in reality life has not yielded: we are beginning to know how we got here but have not been able to scratch the surface of “WHY”?
Or is there even any mystery after all, and not just those elusive ripples in the great nothingness?
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