Who am I?
Now that is a question to be repeated time and time again.
I am but wondrous evidence of a scientific miracle;
That’s cynical you might say,
but must grudgingly accept its accuracy.
I accept that I am a combination of cells that can breathe, behave, and think,
but now, what is thinking?
How can thoughts possibly exist?
How can a mere chemical reaction to one’s surroundings trapped in the mind exist?
Does it exist? There is no proof or evidence.
However, what am I without my thoughts or ideas?
Do I exist?
What does it mean to exist?
Existence is not tangibility.
Which is merely what we humans made up to mean “existance.”
We decided, if we can touch it, it’s real, but if we cannot, it’s a toss up.
In an infinite universe on an infinitesimal home, do we exist? Do we matter?
What is beyond the universe that we claim to know so well?
Maybe our home is part of a child’s toy or a rock that is thrown into the sea.
Maybe all that we claim to know doesn’t exist.
Maybe our big important universe doesn’t even exist at all.
Now that would make our lives seem trivial wouldn’t it?
Does existence mean to matter;
That we play an influential role;
That our presence is significant to others or to fate?
Does existence mean to be real?
Real in a sense that we can be seen, heard, affect, and be affected?
And I exist,
At least according to the modern mind set.
And who am I to contradict?
A mess of cells questioning my own existence.
We could be blind to our own lies;
Ignorant of reality.
Is it possible to exist in a reality you know nothing about?
Who am I?
Where am I?
Do I exist,
Or are we just cells floating on an infinitesimal home in an infinite universe.