There are times when I have to marvel at the strange, ridiculous mystery of life.
There are 6 billion people on the planet of all different nationalities, statures, and influence. I can't help but feel guilty that I was born in the wealthiest country in the world, in a well-to-do family, in an accepting community with no stringent limits on human rights, with plenty of opportunities to succeed. I wonder, what makes me so lucky? Who was holding my soul in his hand and decided, "This fellow will do nicely in this place"?
Why, of all mysteries, do I have the ability to think and battle my thoughts? Why was I born a human being, when there are a quadrillion other organisms with a speck of life that could have been mine? Why not a penguin, a dog, or a paramecium?
An answer like "God" can't do away with the mystery. There is something wholly remarkable about why I should be here. Or why anyone else should be where they are. Answers like "God knows why" or "He loves us" doesn't dive into the heart of the mystery.
Am I to accept that the universe came to me such a short while ago, and that it will disappear just a short while later? That science does not believe in fundamental forces called "love" and "hope"? That dreams don't have anything to do with the universe, that they are their own separate harbor, and that nothing in the human mind can account for their form or appearance? That the linear train of thought known as "a soul" is not a commanding, directing force at all, but a consequence of electrostatic charges?
Well, but of course I would be too vain in assuming that the universe or the soul comes with a built-in operating manual. And besides, what kind of person would waste their time reading the manual instead of jumping right in?
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