I woke up at 5:30am, this morning.  I hit the snooze once, apprehensively, and jolted out of bed at the very next alarm.  I assembled myself with the casual clothes I wear essentially everyday, neglecting to shave, and got into my car sometime before 7am.  Traffic was acceptable; I arrived at my first class early, optimistically.  My perspective was soon coated with a thin layer of pessimism after hearing my Drawing instructor speak.  A girl in my next class made eyes at me each time I passed by her.  I modestly assumed she was looking at something else, the first two times.  On a limb, I looked at her pleasantly and greeted her.  She looked back at me, into me, in like fashion, as she greeted me.  My eyes were focused on her pupils, spreading to her irises, face, and body in-whole.  Her countenance is genuine, toward me; it elicits that she wants something from me, and for I to want something from her.  I do, but doubt that she and I are of like interest, in this regard.  I felt lonely, but strangely complacent, at that moment.  I proceeded to my next class, my conscience now weighted with vague cynicism.  My Public Speaking instructor tried desperately to convince us, and herself, that she was of genuine demeanor.  I found myself veering in and out of her lecture as her facade bored me.  I began to think about certain aspects of life and how it is perceived by individuals of certain demographics and why, as I often do, and attempted to apply the same logic to myself, as I often do.  All of these factors aggravated my fatigue.  There are two breaks within the three-hour period of the class; I used each to go outside and feel the sun, blanking my mind as much as possible to take solace in the act.  Class ended, and I roused wearily from my seat to likewise trudge to my car.  I absorbed the collected heat for a few moments before starting it.  I felt the need to use the restroom, and Cain Cochran is the most comfortable building for the task.  I parked there, in a slightly shaded area, and exited toward its steps.  Entering the doors, I saw another girl whom I had seen before at the same place and under the same circumstances.  We caught eyes, briefly, and I double-took to the door to hold it open for her.  She smiled at me graciously, catching eyes again, and I noticed that she was wearing a Roy Lichtenstein print on her shirt.  Upon exiting afterward, I stopped briefly to tell her that I noticed her shirt.  I noted the artist, and she was mildly perplexed.  I explained him briefly and suggested that she research him, maintaining an absence of condescension.  I then bid a friendly goodbye without having exchanged names.  I walked to my car replaying the interaction in my head, wondering why I didn't give her my name.  I started the car and let the driver's-side window all the way down; I imagined that the jazz from WJSU was mildly audible for a certain proximity.  I remember close to nothing from the drive to my parents' house.

I pulled into my parents' driveway.  I glibly shut the door loud enough for their puppies to hear, to which they began to bark.  I carried the laundry, which I had taken that morning, inside.  After having softly abated the harmless onslaught of puppy antics, I set myself to the task of washing my clothes.  After having completed this, I sat down on a couch; the weight of fatigue forced a "plop."  My mind had made a constant reminder to itself, the entire day, that I was to spend time with my friend James today.  I wanted to, very much, but exhaustion caused the idea less favor.  Still, I lifted my cell-phone above my lap and opened it.  I began to sift through my list of saved numbers when a puppy licked and butted the hand I was doing so with.  I chuckled, let him complete his endeavor, and called James.  There was no answer, and, despite the desire to see him, I was somewhat relieved.

                         FINALLY TALKING ABOUT THE EPIPHANY

I have a dog; her name is Rat Thing.  The puppies I speak of are her's.  As I sat there, tired apathy encouraging a slouch, I scratched her behind her ears.  Eventually, I forget that I am doing it; this inadvertently inspired contemplation.  Amidst my world-weary lethargy and bleak ken on certain aspects of life, I began to consider death -- not suicide, but the notion of death.

When I say this, I don't mean to cause alarm to any who may be concerned.  I was not, nor am I currently, in any physical danger.  However, the most concise and accurate way to describe this event is as follows:  I had a near-death experience.  As I sat there, contemplating various perceptions of death, I urged myself to concentrate on one possibility I shudder to consider.

Imagine yourself drifting into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up in, what seems to be, moments.  You received a full-night's rest, but the absence of any dream or conscious activity deprived you of being able to acknowledge it as it was happening.

That consciously-unaccounted-for period of time between shutting your eyes and opening them again?

That is the closest that we can fathom nonexistence.

That is the closest that any living person can know death without an after-life.

Now, try to imagine shutting your eyes...but never waking up again.

...

If your imagination is vivid enough, you likely just felt your stomach implode.

When I was four-years-old, I was in my parents' bedroom, under very similar circumstances from what I described a few paragraphs prior.  I had recently been to Chuck E Cheese, and I bought a wallet with my ticket-earnings.  In it, I placed a photograph of my parents.  I sat there, on my parents' bed, and stared intently at the photograph.  I began to think about my grandparents, and acknowledged that they were my parents' parents.  One of them was dead.  I then considered that when my parents were to become elderly, their parents would be dead; when I became elderly, my parents would be dead.  I cried -- alone -- and was done.  I have never cried about any death since.  In that moment, I resolved the issue of death.

That is, I resolved it for the living.  What of death for the dead?

People can only scarcely imagine (as we've learned here) not existing.  For all intensive purposes, let's say that a person exists once sentient (able to grasp self-awareness).  If this is true, then from where does sentience originate? 

Many would  suggest that we evolved to accommodate this level of self-awareness.  From where, then, did the materials used to ensure our evolution originate?

(Don't worry.  This isn't going to be an pretentious torrent of pseudo-academic theistic arguments.  I'm only attempting to convey the process by which I was stricken with the epiphany.)

I've done some previous thinking about the origin of the universe.  The Big Bang Theory is actually plausible, though there are a few stipulations.  To explain this, I'll be using some basic physical science.  I am a far-cry from a science major, but I have a certain understanding of physical properties.  If what I present is inaccurate, please correct me.

The most basic element in existence, as we know it, is hydrogen (H).  Imagine pitch blackness, like a dark room or shutting your eyes.  Pretend that is all that exists in the universe...except for hydrogen atoms.  So, let's say that, in the beginning, this is all that existed.  Hydrogen is the closest to nothing that we know.

Einstein's theory that the universe is stagnant was disproved by Stephen Hawking.  Based on this, we can assume that the atoms were not arranged as such:

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

If all of the atoms were arranged outside of each others gravitational field, the universe would, in fact, be stagnant. 

However, if they were arranged as such:

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .  .    .   .   .   .   .   .   .
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

there would be gravity to attract those atoms and have them, eventually, collide.  This would generate more forces, cause more collisions, and create fusions of atoms.  This would effectively create more and different elements.  A series of chain-reactions following this path would go on to create the universe as we know it today.

           .        .                 .                                .
        .. .   .   .   .       .
           .   ..   ..   .   .            .
   .     .  . ...   .  . .   .                                     .             .
     ... . . .. . .   .   .   .            . .  .                      .
   .   ... .. ... . .   ..   .                                .
           ....   .     .   .                                          .
 
Of course, where this theory finds its hole is the very origin of the aforementioned hydrogen atoms and their placement.  I use this explanation to support The Big Ban Theory because it's completely implausible (and, from what I know, in all scientific pretenses, impossible) for "nothing" to explode, let alone create other elments.

Perhaps it's beyond our comprehension to imagine that nothing began existence.  Atheists would probably use that statement to argue the nonexistence of God, and theists would probably rebuke that statement to argue the existence of God.

What no one can argue against, however, is that we have the capacity to comprehend our own existence and existence itself.  We lack the capacity to comprehend our own nonexistence.  What manner of existence, then, was inherent in the universe before our sentience (that is to say "our existence)? 

Whether or not this force was another form of sentience (as The Theory of Intelligent Design would suggest), it existed.  We are, literally, living proof that some force created all that we know and experience.  Do we, then, return to this force when our physical life ends?

If have said all of this to say that, "Yes.  I believe so."

My very first memory was of me spilling a drink onto a piece of chicken that I was eating and my mother punishing me for it. Before that, I remember nothing. As far as I am concerned, I didn't exist. There was a stark transition from blackness to what I know as "the universe" in that moment. I recognized the figures present, so I must have faintly existed before. Other than that, I was nothing, and now I'm not. Will I, then, be sent to nothing -- cease to exist when my physical body dies? I wasn't born from nothing, the universe (as it is to be scientifically understood) wasn't born from nothing. What sense does it make to return to nothing?

No matter your belief on this matter, I will offer this advice. This is nothing any of you have never heard or read. This is nothing profound nor particularly divine:

Find someone to love, and love them.
If you would like, have children, and love them more.
Discover your fondest dreams, and chase them.
All of this, lest you be empty and alone...



















































































...forever.

Innocent lament
A man in angels' clothing
The purest of pain

I found that the less eloquent I tried to make this idea, the more difficult it was to explain.

For those of you who haven't been following this Discovery Channel mini-series: shame.

Koppel's narration, coupled with his confrontational yet humble interviews, provides a fascinating insight into China's growing presence in the global marketplace.

Things I've learned:

1. Li Fan is the most Jewish Chinese man alive.

2. The Chinese speak better English than the Japanese.

3. There seems to be a disturbing trend of obtaining and brandishing material possessions for the sake of status, not unlike America, and CERTAINLY not unlike Japan's pathetic attempt at emulating it.

I believe it airs Fridays at 8pm central, and I expect discussion.