Nothing is more real than nothing. Beckett Malone Meurt/Malone Dies – 1951
Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was, but that I was, forgot to be. – Samuel Beckett, Molloy, 1951
The clamor is everywhere: BE SOMEBODY!… but those efforts are illusory. Beyond our names and our affiliations lies the same eternal nobody that we were when we were born – and that we will be when we die. What surrounds us – all the stuff, the concepts… – blinds us and entraps us into a fortress, a coffin. These facts, though, do not constitute any reason to become pessimistic, merely realistic. And freer.
A false sense of self, or is it that any sense of self is false?
Not unlike the Buddhist warning about everything being “maya“- a form of illusion, it is clear that much of what surrounds us (the concepts, the busyness… ) stands on wobbly foundations.
The silence – not the physical type [machines were beeping, announcements and similar activities abounded around me] – a form of beyond-activity spelled out clearly, within a form of silence – that everything was nil.
O vanity of vanities, behind all the “stuff” that surrounds us lies…
… nothing.
And no need to expand much on this.
Either you understand this or you don’t.
More words will not help.
It seems most people have no interest in this type of “information” – it just does not seem to fit anywhere.
About “being nobody” per se, paralleling Kafka’s “I have hardly anything in common with myself ” & “My People! My People! If only I had one,” I would refer you to many others who have expanded on that topic: Guy Debord, Alejandro Jodorowski, U.G. Krishnamurti. Or you can view the recent brilliant film “The Other Son.”
Without saying, saving lives is not part of this concern.