On Infinity and Nothingness

Some days, I just fade away. All dreams, desires, playful remedies as patterns of linguistic reminiscence or passionate aspiration – they just dissolve into the emptiness from whence they came. Dust and mindless, meaningless turbulence remains – spiralling into a slow oblivion in resonant sympathy with an unfurling tapestry of Universal decay and relentless forgetting into, unto darkness and my own – our shared – non-existence.

The one thing that will outlast me or us is an impossible love I or we once held dear because love is one of those things that sits just (and forever) outside proof; it can not be explained, only experienced and that – like peace or freedom – is why you and I can never possess it. That is my enigma, perhaps your as well – if forever intransigently, fearfully unacknowledged. The most valuable things are indefinable and this, curiously, is part of the inverse reason they are so very, very valuable and equally substantive, that is- why they are so real.

You and I, Self and Other (or Self and World), part and whole – it is a resonant paradox of two systems that each contain the other, yet both mirrored in or as one counter-intuitive fact that contains itself. It is worth noting, though, that only two things contain themselves – infinity and nothingness and the only way that the infinite is ever plausibly or intelligibly manifest is as a pure negation and emptiness, a vacuum and void that endless recreates and invokes itself as a pure and unbounded freedom of dimensional, combinatorial possibility and probabilistic complexity.

This is what I see in myself and in you, all of you, in our world and all the stars and galaxies beyond, and this is why I constantly fade away. We are not meant to understand these things, we can only experience them and then, eventually, surrender this transient experience or embodied memory back into them without fear or suffering – difficult as it is to let go for all of us, I know. Love is anchored upon the infinite in this way. Entropy is a consequence of system self-containment and the infinite is anchored upon its own hyper-inflating and self-gravitating interior vacuum, its own essential emptiness. We are each microcosms of it; a reverse logical origami, counting backwards from infinity as opposed to labouring slowly and impossibly towards it.

The main reason infinity frightens people is because if it is real, this Self and everything we build upon it is nothing. We are as human beings on the whole and in general (as temporally, narratively-bound and linguistically-reflexive beings haunted by the manifest impossibility of our own desire for aspirations towards a teleology of fictional or mythological closure and meaning or self-possession) just not wise or mature enough to cope with such an astonishing revelation. Please consider this – it is subtle yet important: you may have heard me but are you actually listening?

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