A short Inspection of Nothingness.

Why is life so hard? Certainly, Davis’ trumpet eases my heart and soul while writing this, but what’s next when music and wine end, when silence floods the house like the old pump a fire hose?

There’s nothing, I know. It isn’t other than the sad rhetorical question we drunk non-believers pose to let time elapse and make our existence feel a bit shorter.

We consume noise as addicts heroin. It distracts us from the hurting void of the week. Like Sisyphus’s boulder, we push day by day, little by little to reach a weekend full of joy and meaning, just to start suffering again inch by inch until death frees us.

Indeed, a liberating idea this would be. Equally harmonious as easy, just to die peacefully, be it at one’s house under a blanket or in a car among the iron. Death and then eternal silence. No dew at dawn nor stars at night. “There nothings nothingness”, as Heidegger would put it. Possible but too tasty to be real.

Some time ago this new scenario came to me like an oxidized not-so-sharp knife through my veins. We’ve got the privilege of self-consciousness over all other natural species (that we know). What if this consciousness could be our sempiternal jail. A point of start which never ends nor progresses.

Wouldn’t this be the worst tragical momentum of life? Death turns off existence but consciousness scapes as some sort of radiation off a black hole. A loop which never extinguishes but cannot develop either, just be. Something in a sea of nothingness. Trapped for eternity in no place. Some sort of being without existence at all.

Davis’s trumpet shuts and wine is almost over. I’ve got no fear but neither do I have peace. Perhaps that’s the true essence of life. The duality between standing still and making the step forward to emptiness.