Sunday, July 10, 2011


We already live in the matrix. We will never really know the real thing, only the perception of the real thing, and that is how we define it. All of our perceptions of reality come through our senses. We see, we smell, we touch things and our thoughts are also part of our senses. We cannot interact with this world except through them. We must say that reality comes from within, within our thoughts and our brains. 

And this reality, it is patterns and stability. We walk into the room today and we see the table in the middle of the floor on the same old faded carpet we saw yesterday. And we will walk into the room tomorrow and see the same objects. And we will touch them and smell them and taste them and we will register that the table smells of wood and it tastes of cold and a singular bitterness. We will see the fibers and the colours of the carpets and we sill sit and run our hands across the leather sofas and feel softness. 

Yet what makes these objects more real than our dreams? For we can reconstruct dreams over and over again also, night after night, going through the same streets and feeling the rain on our skin, panting and feeling fear. We can touch the sweet grass underneath our bodies and see the blue, blue sky over us and close our eyes. But we cannot share them with others like we can with our rooms and our gravity. We cannot say to others Look, here is the table and carpet and couch for they will not and cannot see. We cannot share the rules of the dream world with others because there are no rules to share. When we run toward the walls, we go through them, right through yet when we open our eyes, when we approach the wall, we come back bloodied and pained. Over and over again, without fail. Reality does not end, it keeps on going, keeps on controlling you. When you jump off a building, you die, you do not keep on falling, for there is always an end to the height. Only those things that never end, never cease to be are illusory. 

And yet, the lives we live are not strictly real, for we are blinded by the visors of perception. Instead, we converge closer and closer to a point, or a limit, to that ideal absolute reality we so much desire to find. With time, with knowledge, we inch further and whether we ever do reach that magic number is only to be seen. 

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