Black Tar, Light Hope

Standing on the street corner in Shimokitazawa, a powerful terror came over me: we might as well not exist. We only exist because we know we exist, and if we didn't realize we existed, who would? Nobody. If the earth exploded tomorrow, even the concept of a God would cease to be known.

Just outside the South Exit of Shimokitazawa station, there was once a quaint landscaped area where mimes and hacky sackers would perform. As I stood there I realized that feature was gone, pasted over with black tar. This was the departure point of my thoughts that evening.

The universe is a meaningless place and even if aliens come and attack us and crack our bodies open and drink our blood, it can only possibly be to ensure their own survival. For what? So they can continue to exist? For what? For the simple sake of existing. And we would naturally fight with everything for our right to exist. The precious realization that came to me then (which I have felt thousands of times but perhaps never more than in that instant) was one of utter possibility and pure resolution: it's up to us to make our tiny moment in the universe the best it can be. Life, in its meaninglessness, is a profound treasure.

I felt like kissing the skinny boy with the bowl cut who I'd been watching while he strummed his guitar and wailed into the night because I wanted him to know that I realized how amazing he was, a human being! And so were all the other useless human beings walking around in man-made light on concrete, wearing belts made of metal mined from the ground. What was the point? How it electrified my mind to see that they'd each taken the time to accessorize. I wanted to share my elation with everyone.

If we hold in our consciousness the absurdity of our presence here, and keep in perspective the inconsequential choices we make every day, then what's important will stay in view. And what's important? Nothing, and that's why each individual may decide for himself, without fear. So let's decide and give everything to that.

This awakening occurred almost three weeks ago and I've been concerned since then about how to maintain the fresh perspective that evening afforded me. One solution has been to picture myself as a mealworm on a plate with thousands of other squiggling mealworms. We're delicate; we could be smashed at any moment without warning. We speak to one another, we love each other and in our fragility we're divine.