Theory of Everything

I'm sitting in my room, enjoying the end of a very unnatural ode to the human love of numbers that is a centennial date.

March. Third. TwoThousandTen.

3.2.10

Three. Two. One. Zero. What?

I sit. I exist. I am.

I'm watching this show on Steven Hawkings detailing his search for the theory of everything. Little Hawkings is huge. He figured out the creation of space and our universe-- from its immediate conception at least-- using math and physics. This proves especially interesting considering that Hawkings is only labelling what is, making it make sense in our own consciousness..

At the Big Bang, everything was one. If spread apart does the essence of everything link it together still?

Are we all one, and one with the universe that we consciously ignore? These questions lead, like the date to zero.

As we search for ourselves and, as humans do, give names and properties and jobs and positions and weigh the importance of different things, we all are ostensibly (!) on the same search. Hawkings searches for the beginning to better tell about the end. Hawkings' search for everything parallels mine on a much more complicated (and possibly interesting/informative) way. He hopes to find where we come from and I where we'll go. His production of the theory of everything is taking him closer to the answer as is my life dragging me to the answer that is death.

Both our answers will provide information on what we are, our purposes and if this life is true, continuous, or just a corporeal miracle (mistake?) in the enigma that is time. Whatever the answer is, neither one of us knows yet. It's comforting to think even Steven Hawkings himself is, essentially, just as confused as I am.

I can only wonder if he'll come upon the answer to everything; and the consciousness that has been expanding, scratching, and building knowledge upon itself over our knowledge of existence to understand what truly IS will have finished its quest allowing for a level of understanding-- creating universal calm.

Blogs

The problem with blogs is everybody has one, but few people have much to say. Like myself. I have sporadic bursts of what I like to think is brilliance but proves not to be so. THis internal realization made external doesn't serve as a lesson, new fact, or extension of the unknown. This is the beauty of life, in a sense that we all are on the same path with different understandings of the same truths. No one person can mentally go further than another if the same experience and understanding is extended. People are built not born. One's essence and experience may be the most effectually different thing about them.

See. Even this "realization" proves to be common sense in nature. It seems as if conversations with people, if not discussing a new event, involves the same self-serving rhetoric that reinforces what we already have concluded about ourselves and our surroundings.

So why discuss it?

Could one look at life in the same way? If everything I want to do has been done, does my doing it prove pointless? Should I highlight the action of others through personally changed repetition?

Thats why I wear jeans with holes in them. Because most of you aren't. Nobody in the same personal genre as me any way. What we do will not define us, however. With intent comes definition.

The life we live is denotative, no matter how connotative we hope our outward personalities and possessions make it. We are, in true essence, what we ARE.

This is why we make blogs. This is why we have Twitter and Facebook; To post our selves, thoughts and feelings up, searching for eternal understanding, acceptance and relation to our everyday "realizations."