Suppose you wanted to create the world and nothing was going to stop you. ‘This is it’, you say, ‘I am going to create the world whether anyone likes it or not. I’m going to go for it. I’m going to go for broke…’ That’s just the way you are you see – headstrong and impetuous. You won’t be told. You’re a law unto yourself.
You don’t know quite how you’re going to do it, but you aren’t going to let that stop you either. Then it comes to you – inspiration comes to you. You do something on a whim – something completely meaningless, something completely stupid and then you glorify your absurd actions, you say that what you have just done is a masterpiece. You declare majestically that what you have just created is a work of art of the very greatest significance and that everyone must worship it…
A rich and wonderful future had been created and we were all believers. We were believers to the last – we were a band of staunch and resilient believers and no one would ever tell us anything different. You wanted to create the universe, but they said the proper planning application hadn’t been sent in. I was imprisoned in my own head and that was all there was to it – there was no way out. I was a witness to my own sad degradation. A rich and wonderful future had been created and everyone who believed would be saved! You wanted to embark upon an ambitious programme of cosmic creation but some officials from the Department of Sanitation came to talk you out of it. Thankfully you had the good sense to listen to them.
Another perfect day had dawned and outside the cracked and grimy windows of the Survival Dome phantasmagorical figures could be seen cavorting around the place with utter abandon. They were ghosts from a future that would never happen, hence their inordinate glee. They had escaped their fate and were free to frolic amongst the ruins. My colleagues and I had no time to concern ourselves with this whimsical spectacle however – the end of the world was at hand and it was our solemn duty to try to survive as long as possible. There was no sense in this, of course – what could possibly be gained as a result of us eking out our wretched existence for another year or two, another decade or two, another century or two? It was all so futile…
That’s the chief characteristic of living organisms of course – we cling to life to the very end, do we not? You know it and I know it – it doesn’t make any sense, but there it is. It’s funny how when you’re young you always imagine that you’re going to make a difference, isn’t it? You always imagine that you’re going to do something wonderful in life, something great that will really help the world, and then when you grow up you always end up being a tool for some appallingly malignant corporation or for the government or something like that. We become PR executives or solicitors.
We’re like little seedlings, you see – it comes naturally to us to grow towards the light. That’s all we want to do – to stretch our tender young leaves to the Source of all Light, to the Source of all Goodness. Alas for us, however – alas for us… Alas for us because our innocent quest for truth is subverted right from the very beginning: we become humans in the human zoo and our suffering is very great.
