That’s Life.

The meaning of my life is scrawled out onto one piece of paper.

At a weed induced state of mind, I found the meaning of life… well, for me that is. And I realize that this is entirely a presumptuous statement on my part. I suppose this ties in with my previous entry of “Less Than Ordinary.” This entry may sound more self-righteous than normal… but,  I think I’ve figured it out. So hear me out, and give me some of your own thoughts.

There is nothing. But because there is nothing, it is everything. *life is Life.

The Earth has existed for over 3.5 BILLION years. Our human existance is merely a fraction of the Earth’s life. In fact, dinosaurs lived on this planet longer than humans. The dinosaurs eventually went kablooie and mortal lives returned to Earth in the form of neanderthals, rabbits, and manatees. And sorry to break it to y’all… humanity will eventually sputter out – whether by the hands of Bush or natural occurrences. But when the human race ends, something will probably take our place… I’m imagening 7 foot roaches. Anyway, life on this planet will continue with or without us. But the Earth has a life of its own. I won’t even attemot to dip into lives in other galaxies far far away. On second thought, lets just think about that for a moment…. WOW…

Life (an explanation in the macro-sense): Life is everything beyond anything, which makes it nothing. There is no past, present, future… beginning, middle, end… the glass is neither half-full or half-empty… there is no glass. There is only vacancy; there is space within  space.

Our individual lives are litreally one grain of sand on Santa Monica beach; a speck of dust in an abandoned wine cellar; a scary looking microscopic creature you see in National Geographic living in your eyebrow. From a purely cynical viewpoint, life is pointless; humanity has no significance. The human constructs of religion is used to give meaning, a sense of validation, a point to life. But there really is nothing; everything we know has been constructed by men. I reiterate… there is nothing… nada… nai.

life (an explanation in the micro-sense): Here’s the uplifting part. There is still a significant importance to life. Our individual existence is important because it’s the only thing we know and try to understand. Our lives are mere vessels used for digesting what Life throws at us: emotions, changes, rotten food. Yet since there is nothing, that means that nothing is everything in regards to our individual, independent lives. For example: in high school I was Homecoming Prince. I got a crown and everything. It was grande… it meant something to me. But when you really thinkg about it and how it fits into the larger picture of Life, it means shit. I might as well been a mollusk wearing a fucking tutu. It means nothing, but wearing that stupid crown constructed by a third-world sweatshop worker meant something to me.

Humanity will always seek something when it’s really nothing. Homosexuals will fight for gay marriages, Christians will continue to evangelize “the word,” Fratboy Greg will try to sleep with as many women as possible……. and all of this means NOTHING to, say, wifebeater Joe Shmoe. Poppycock, in fact… Hmmm, but these nothings are something, if not everything, to many individual lives. Whether if this is “sad” or “beautiful” or both is your call. It’s humanity.

So, in an attempt to make something out of nothing, I made a list of things I want to accomplish in life (I did this at work, and for those who are on the JET program, you are well aware how much time we have on our hands). Here are a few I care to share with you:

1. Positively influence the lives around me.

2. See the Aurora Borealis.

3. Have sex in a gondola (and yes, I’m serious).

This list, according to me, is the meaning of my life. In this life I will seek happiness through what makes me happy. Although it effects how I live my life, human constructs will not tell me how I should live in order to attain happiness. Sure, I gotta work with what I got, but nobody has gotten it entirely right.

As for making sense out of macro-Life, we won’t know the answer until we die… and why think about it? Why ask questions such as “is their life after death” when we will never know the answer in our mortal lives? People can say there’s a heaven and hell… but how the hell do they know that? I guess that’s where faith fits into the picture, but it still means nothing to those who don’t believe in a god. I suppose one can only have an understanding of Life, life, and the lives that surround you.

Conclusion: the life we decide to live is the meaning of Life… but only to our own lives. Yet we are still a part of the bigger scope of Life. This is only a part of what we can do as individuals to understand Life. I can have as much control as I can over my own destiny. If I can’t have control, it’s nothing anyway. The great thing, to a certain degree, is that we have the power to make an event mean something only if we want it to; a level of understanding is necessary to make nothing into something or vice versa.

Um… yeah… so, that’s that. But here’s a question for you: what is the meaning of your own life? What do you want to accomplish before you die? Make a list… it’s fun.

Eat It

Yeah… things need to change.

I Left my Heart in San Francisco

I’ve been tittilated. The friends who I met at the San Francisco JET orientation, but currently living in in Osaka, came to visit me in inaka (the Japanese countryside) among the wild monkeys and boars. There’s a sense of pride showing my rural way of life and the simplicity of it, being completely immersed in this poduck town the past 7+ month with a port-o-potty for a toilet and a high-powered hose to blast away shit streaks. Yeehaw. Yet my drama free existence had rarely been stimulated; my mind had taken the form of large, gray matter also known as rotting elephant dung. And like my other friends I made in the second least inhabited prefecture in Japan, our current state of mind had begun to (de)evolve into the simple minded folk of our villages… awaiting for the next binging session with sake, shochu, and bad Japanese beer. I don’t even like alcohol. My face turns red like the rear of a baboon’s butt. Moreover, the processing of any type of auditory, visual, emotional stimulation had begin to converge to the aching area known as my loins. My life has begun to reflect an x-rated version of the hick-ville syndicated TV show Dukes of Hazard… minus the car chases, wheelie’s, and white folk. Actually, I don’t even think I watched Dukes of Hazard. In other words, I became Japanese trailer trash and I didn’t even know it – until ‘dem city folk arrived.

It was a girly weekend. My four fabolous gurhlfrens arrived bright and early in the morning, marveled by the abundance of trees, mountain, and the ocean. After all, Osaka is known as a complete concrete jungle, lacking any sense of lush greenery that only the countryside can provide. And let me say that these women are beautiful. Not only aesthetically, but in the emotional, intelligent, intangible sense of beauty only attained through colloquial exchanges revolving around social constructs, the search of knowledge, and human understanding.

I am utterly enthralled with these people… and they are all from the Bay Area.

San Francisco, the “City by the Bay” goaded by the imperfections of the rest of the nation in order to right the wrongs, or improve, for that matter, the desultory vision of conservative activists led by Bush. The epitome of America’s melting pot, the city spattered with a cornucopia of underground cultures and cuisines – one of the best in the world. A respective city with respectable inhabitants… almost rightfully maintaining an elitist, almost snobbish, air. The beach and redwood forests are at the city’s doorstep; the mountains and the deserts are its next door neighbors; its vineyards, hot springs, and fog are its lifeline. San Francisco, the most “European” looking city in the states which embodies the architectural charm and history despite its young age. San Francisco, the home of the “rogue governor,” the gays, the movers & shakers, the hippies, vegans, feminists, surfers, writers, artists, musicians, and Robin Williams. San Francisco, my home… and where my heart desires to return.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not taking my time here in Japan for granted one bit. If anything, it has only made me appreciate my home more… to know I can continue to search for onsens, Shinto Shrines, and Japanese gardens within the city’s core.

My god… I’m not the biggest fan of America, but I am in love with San Francisco.

Forty-eight hours with people you respect and admire can put a complete spin on one’s life. These four friends that I have just started to get to know, and will continue to know after this Japan business is over, have instilled a sense of wonder to explore my adult life in a city where I know I will thrive in. They have helped me realized that I am but a mere 22/23 kid ready to embark on my actual adult life with stimulating, intellectual, like-minded San Franciscans. I am so excited that I have mild diarrhea. And although I never really thought life as bleak, although I can usually catch myself brooding in a corner and hating everyone, my new life long friends have given me hope in life. Before they came to visit, I felt myself being swallowed and digested into a country bumpkin. But I’ve been purged… and now there’s only four more months of riding this tsunami before I reach that Golden Gate.