Nothing matters, not you not me. Once we die nothing changes no one cares not a single thing will disrupt the planet with our disappearance, there is no point to making friends they will leave, or change to the point you no longer recognize them, lovers, they change and leave you hanging and start becoming uncaring and think you will never leave, you will get old and no one will help you when you can’t walk anymore, even if you have kids they would hate helping you and you would be a burden, what is the point and why can’t we mean more on this stupid planet. Why do we suffer, and why aren’t we cared about the same way we care for others? A cruel life where nothing matters and the world keeps spinning.

I can find no meaning to life. The only thing that males me a little happy is my daughter. For every good thing there seems to be 10 bad. I'm over it. But I don't know if I want to die just yet. When I think of dying I think of my daughter. It's stops me. I feel so alone. So isolated. Like I have no one that cares. What is the point of all this..to be miserable? To hate waking up? I don't enjoy anything anymore. What's the damn point.

Do they not distract you from the harsh reality and trick you into staying in the living realm to suffer more and more, giving the afterlife more and more to make you suffer in the long run? Having a friendship or any other meaningful connection, no matter how healthy it is guilts you into letting yourself suffer longer by distracting you. By extension it is not a horrible act for you to have a positive relationship with others? Is it morally better to isolate yourself?

I began by writing down things i am grateful for. And then i wrote everything down.

Here it is, exactly, word for word as i wrote it, and i hope it helps get you out of your negative funk.

What I am grateful for:

A loving family

Nice friends

Financial independence

Opportunity for growth

A nice computer

Knowing about awesome music festivals

Being smart

Having straight teeth

Access to a shower, bath, and bed whenever I want.

CJ. He's awesome

Yummy food

What i need to do to feel better

1. Quit vaping. Cold Turkey.

2. Get no more than 10 hours of sleep

3. Move my body, exercise

4. Eat more, eat healthy

5. Eat in the morning

6. Stay productive and moving when not asleep

7. It's okay to relax sometimes

8. Pressure yourself, but recognize when too much is TOO MUCH

9. Exercise good drug usage

10. Accept yourself and the way things are. Love yourself

11. On all these silly thoughts of The Universe, THINK. For example, what would suicide do? Nothing Good. Why try to delay my eternal soul? (I was saying here, my eternal existence and neverending consciousness and it's a reference to my thoughts of what happens after death) There's no point. Plus, my loving family and friends would be torn apart

I have choices. I choose for MY LIFE to not be a tragedy

I am stronger than i know

How do i give my life meaning?

By helping others

We are all in this reality TOGETHER

Yay!

And that was all i wrote down. It really felt good to write rather than type something.

So that's that. It'll surely take time to feel better, but time is healing and I have it in me.

Parentheses was not written down

With every blessing comes 10 more curses. Things can never just be good, for every good thing there’s 10 bad things.

God why do you hate us all why let humanity live anymore seeing how fucked up it is.

Please god just turn off the sun and kill everything turn off the program god that would he really great

I'm making this post mostly as a reflection to a bunch of posts I've been seeing lately, saying that "being a nihilistic as a teen was cool, to reject morals, nothing matters, drink, partying, drugs, dumb religious adults... I've now grown past it and you will too"

I reached these ideas through a near-death experience. I literally almost died. This event has impacted my life in a way I had never seen before. Obviously, it has put me through some very deep existential questioning, especially in regards to death. I will die, and what happens then? What will my consciousness be like after I die? Is it just an eternal black screen or am I going to heaven or hell to experience eternity? This is extremely scary once you put some real thought into.

And then it's not hard to reach the conclusion that our time here is limited. Therefore, some things matter much more than others. Time with family, with loved ones, etc.

What if you die and it's all blank? What were all your struggles for? Why did you fight your mom that night for such an unimportant reason? Is all this stress even worth it? That's where nihilism and existentialist/absurdist ideas in general got into my life. The reliance on the likelihood that we're simply consequences of the universe and not a central part of it. That we are all cosmically unimportant and so are our problems. "Nothing matters" became a synonymous for "This doesn't matter as much as I'm making it to, so don't stress". Taking things more lightly since we'll all be dead in a few years anyways.

The main point I'm trying to get across is that it seems like people reach nihilistic ideas in different ways and it has a big impact on how you react to it

An example nowadays is Rick and Morty, a cartoon that explores nihilistic ideas and might introduce a bunch of teens into it who might interpret "nothing matters" as "let's live a hedonistic life" like I've described in the beginning of this post. Not to mention nihilism seems to be pretty trendy among teens for a reason I'm not sure about

It's not that there are right or wrong interpretations but that interpretations deeply differ, and that it seems like some people judge their "I've grown past this nihilistic phase", or "It's just a phase" based on their own interpretations. I've seen this "phase" idea even on that famous Jim Carrey video where he talks about a meaningless party. "Oh he's just in the initial phases of nihilism he'll grow out of it" like how do you know? And what's even the point of this sort of comment anyways. Realizing death and making deeper realizations about the nature of reality is very deep and is a very humbling experience. These comments seem to translate an idea of superiority from their OPs that is hard to conceive given they have supposedly gone through the humbling experience of the realization of their own mortality through nihilism

Perhaps I have misunderstood it myself, this isn't unlikely

edit: the Rick and Morty paragraph is not meant to demerit teenagers introduced to nihilism nor to say that the hedonistic interpretation is a wrong (or a right) one, rather, my intentions were to attempt to explain why these people who "grow past nihilism" might judge the philosophy as "naive" based on this demographics that gets attracted to it or even at what age they got to know themselves what nihilism is

- The self is not what we think it is. We misinterpret the phenomenology and instantiate too much of a given self. Our memories are constantly rewoven tales. Sometimes matching reality. Sometimes not. Our linguistic, narrative selves likely arose within the last 30,000 years as complex language ramped up. Language is what makes us human. We are the only self-aware creatures in the universe that we know of. "I am." See: Thomas Metzinger, Antonio Damasio, blindsight, lucid dreaming.

- Developmental and Social Psychology. Genes do not create an understanding of object continuity. Protein is behaviorally cheap. As the baby exits the womb, its visual cortex begins to parse the environment. Objects stay constant in our environment, therefore we learn to expect them to stay constant. Magic is delightful because it behaves unlike normal expectations. However, if the baby is being raised in a VR/Matrix world, that baby's brain will absorb whatever world it experiences. If the physics within that matrix world is loose about object continuity, the baby will absorb bizarre *matrix physics.* This is true of most of our mental processes. Drastically playing with that environment allows for overhaul of what humans are. See: Alison Gopnik. Skinner.

- All the characteristics of your identity flow from culture, from social institutions, and from the environment. Heritability about behavioral characteristics misses the boat about how differently we can structure the social world. A future AGI/robot world highlights this. Take sexuality. Your DNA/self could have been raised in a single sex environment with 0 knowledge or imagery of the opposite sex. We would have to deny you knowledge of meiosis, but you could be thoroughly educated. You would still be a robust self. You are likely still a sexual creature. It is just that you will stand outside of how we define and experience our 2-sexed society. In a AR/Matrix world, you could grow up as a giraffe enjoying giraffe sexuality. There is no identity structure flowing from genes. -Berger and Luckmann, Social Construction of Society

Go forth and build new worlds, new selves. At least for the next generation.

The Fact of Freedom?

1] Imagine a chess board with a few pieces on it - this is a model of the current state of the world, you are a piece.

2] Can there be more than one casual chain from the beginning of the game for the piece to be where it now is. - Yes.

3] Was there a unique casual chain for the current situation, - Yes

4] Can we discover this? From the beginning of the game. - No. [see 2]

5] Can we discover this? From the current situation. Maybe - so Yes.[see 3]

6] If yes we find the cause FROM the effect. We cannot find it from the cause.

The idea then that given cause and effect from the initial condition we can predict the future is wrong. We would have no way of knowing if the predicted future even if accurate was the correct chain of cause and effect.

If we cannot produce the cause from [5] then we can never know the cause of [5].

Lets say [1] is at move M50 and we track back to M49, there will be a possible number of moves from M49 -> M50. (and likewise to M1) But no way of knowing which one was actual. [5] fails. We cannot know the cause and effect of [1]. We might say that we believe or know [a] there is, but one cannot be known.[a] fails.

"The for-itself [The human condition] cannot be free because it cannot not choose itself in the face of its facticity. The for-itself is necessarily free. This necessity is a facticity at the very heart of freedom."

From Gary Cox’s Sartre Dictionary.

Look at the dying leaves.

It’s not a lack of belief in God but a belief in people. I’m not sure if I had faith in God but I had faith in fellow Christians. Time and time again hypocrisy shows its ugly head and I just watch. I haven’t openly challenged other Christians but I guess I observe how they act. I’m my small congregation alone I’ve felt it fail. I think these people fight for influence rather than what the Bible and God actually ask of us. They lack consistency over all. I don’t think people can have faith in God because they can’t even begin to fathom him. They have faith in others. God is just being used by so called Christians

We have a part of the brain called the default mode network (DMN) which is responsible for self referential thinking, it's active when we reflect on our past, imagine our future, and create a coherent narrative of our lives. This narrative gives us a sense of identity and continuity over time.

If the DMN is deactivated or disrupted through drugs or meditation, the sense of self can dissolve, leading to a temporary loss of identity. This suggests the sense of self is not inherent or fixed, but rather a construct of brain activity. If the sense of self is not inherent or fixed, the foundation upon which we build meaning is unstable, without a stable sense of who we are, the things we consider meaningful lose their context and coherence.

Meaning is always relative to the self, but the self is an illusion.

Hey everyone,

I’ve been struggling a lot with existential questions lately. I’ve been a member of the Eastern Orthodox Church for a long time now, and I haven’t left, but my beliefs are starting to feel shaky. According to EO teachings, salvation can’t be achieved without being baptized in the Church. But even that’s not enough—you have to dedicate your whole life to practicing the Orthodox faith. And still, you can’t be sure about your salvation until your last breath. The logical conclusion to all of this seems to be that the vast majority of people will end up in eternal torment, which is a pretty terrifying thought.

This has led me to question everything, and I find nihilism to be somewhat comforting. It feels less scary to think that nothing happens after death than to face the possibility of eternal hell. But then, I’ve spent so much time studying the Church’s teachings that I can’t shake the fear: "What if they’re actually right? What if these doubts are being put in my mind by evil forces trying to lead me astray?" Even now, I sometimes think, "What if the people in this subreddit are demonized and are going to give me demon-inspired answers?"

So yeah, I’m just wondering—how did you all come to embrace nihilism, and what makes you so sure there’s no meaning, no afterlife, or anything beyond this life?

Thanks for reading.

I used to love nihilism when I was younger...rejecting all moral and religious principles was edgy and fun, especially when I was in high school. My friends and me were all atheists....we didn't have REAL responsibilities...hell, most of us didn't even have jobs....we'd rebel against our parents....go to concerts, stay out late, smoking and drinking, lamenting how messed up the world was, and that we knew so much more than the adults running it....and then we grew older and had to take on responsibilities...most of us got married, some had divorces....some had kids, some had abortions...more life struggles....layoffs, cancer, medical bills, funerals, bankruptcy...more hardships...loneliness, depression, anxiety, counseling...bad accident, back pain, surgery, neck pain, painkillers, more pain....in light of all that, who or what do you turn to for answers, for hope, for a reason to go one? definitely not nihilism....no, nihilism is fun when you're riding high without a worry in the world...but when you've fallen and been beaten down in this life, and feel like you're sinking into an infinite abyss...the last thing you want or need is more of the abyss

I don't feel as much pressure about things, and have come to realize since nothing really matters, I should do what I enjoy and that's that. Or atleast try to.

I searched on this sub before, for answers on this but almost all answer to the questions "why not do anything you want \be evil\ anything goes, etc" was either Law, Police etc -which is a matter of convenience , practicality and "technique" rather than a philosophical answers, evolutionary biology or physiology (evolution is a Process, it's neither moral nor immoral) or plain psychology ("murder makes you feel bad") But if you hate christmas movies, watching one will make you feel bad- that doesn't input moral character upon the action.

Is "anything goes" :meaning, the most evil or abhorrent act is as morally insignificant as the most selfless sacrifice? Or that the most heinous dictators and criminals have equal moral standing ie; 0, than the most devoted humanitarians, the inescapable and only logically coherent conclusion stemming from Nihilism?

My entire existence is just me waiting to die. Nothing we do in this life matters at all. I don't believe in an afterlife, and I don't believe in reincarnation. I believe that we only live once, and after that, it's complete nothingness. I used to be super depressed, but nowadays I don't feel much sadness. With life being as pointless as it is, I simply just don't care about things as much as I used to. Incase it does ever gets unbearably bad, I'm not afraid of committing suicide. I don't feel the need to do it now however. Nowadays most of my time is spent getting high, staring at the ceiling, and daydreaming. If life continues the way it is for me, then I don't mind just waiting for my death. The end result will be the same regardless.

I honestly would rather have never been born, and I despise the world we live in. Not that my circumstances are terrible or anything, but I just simply do not care for the human experience. Given the choice between never being born or living my ideal life, I would choose never to exist. Even an ideal life wouldn’t hold much appeal to me, as I don’t find value in the human experience to begin with.

The following text is a compilation of answers I have received from the chatbot on existential questions:

All that exists is a boundless ocean of matter and energy, a continual metamorphosis where forms arise, dissolve, and are reborn in endless configurations. Atoms, the primordial dancers, act their timeless choreography in the void, spinning together the galaxies, the mountains, the tides, and the fleeting spark of human consciousness. We are but ripples in this vast, indifferent flow—ephemeral arrangements of stardust and sunlight, molded by the weight of gravity and the whisper of entropy.

There is no essence, no immutable core; only the flux of being, where every moment births another, each a pulse in the rhythm of an unfolding cosmos. This is not a story of despair but of wonder, for within this perpetual cycle, we are kin to all things—a river's current, a forest's breath, a star's burning heart. We are the universe awakening to itself, not in transcendence but in the immanent beauty of energy eternally shaping and reshaping matter in an eternal Now.

Each particle a note in the symphony of endless becoming. In this boundless field, existence unfolds as an intricate dance of forms—morphogenesis without origin or destination, a perpetual rearrangement of the same primordial substance. We are but momentary tides in this vast ocean of energy, transient eddies in a cosmic current that neither begins nor ends, only transforms. Each breath, a borrowed convergence of elements; each thought, a flicker in the circuitry of neural constellations, themselves born from stardust scattered by ancient supernovae. Here, there is no above or beyond—no hand shaping the clay—but only the immanence of the universe shaping itself, folding and unfolding in infinite permutations.

Knitted with the stars, the soil, the sea, we are the cosmos gazing inward, a self-aware moment in the ceaseless self-revelation of being. In the quiet hum of electrons and the silent collapse of forms, we witness the eternal truth: all things pass, yet nothing is lost, for all is one—an unbroken flow of being, dancing through the void. The universe is an endless self-revelation, an infinite cascade of being folding into and out of itself, with no origin beyond its own motion, no purpose other than its unfolding. In this eternal flux, every particle is both a fragment and the whole, carrying within it the memory of stars and the promise of yet unimagined forms.

What we call life is the momentary confluence of forces, the brief alignment of patterns drawn together by the blind artistry of matter, where the atoms that once burned in stellar cores now hum in our veins, whispering the ancient songs of creation. Every molecule is a miracle, a fleeting node in the web of interdependence that binds all things. The earth cradles the rain, the rain feeds the seed, and the seed rises into the air, transforming the sun's fire into the green exhalation of life. And we, transient observers of this constant alchemy, are the universe reflecting on its own intricacy. Even our thoughts are but the vibrations of this flow, a shimmering undulation in the great current of the same energy that shapes the stars and shatters the mountains.

Duration is not a loss but the very condition of beauty. Every form contains its dissolution, every arising its decay, yet in this endless process, nothing is wasted, nothing truly lost. The ashes of the dead feed the roots of the living; the collapse of a star forges the elements of new worlds. To exist is to participate in this eternal becoming, to be both the observer and the observed, the question and the answer, a fleeting glimpse of the infinite. In this vision, there is no hierarchy, no privileged being standing apart from the dance. A grain of sand and a human mind are equally miraculous, equally transient, equally necessary.

The sacred is not beyond but within: in the folding of a fern, the spiral of a galaxy, the pulse of blood through capillaries. Every moment, every thing, is the cosmos in miniature, an expression of the whole in its relentless desire to be. We are not apart; we are the dance itself, inseparable from the energy that courses through all things. Beneath the surface of appearances, reality whispers a secret: all that is, is flux—an infinite cascade of shifting patterns, where permanence is an illusion projected by minds desperate for stability in a universe that knows none.

What we call death is merely the dissolution of one arrangement into infinite others, the reabsorption of the individual into the totality from which it arose. The self, that cherished fiction, is nothing more than the sum of interactions, a vortex of sensations, thoughts, and memories swirling in the void—each thought a spark of neural fire, each emotion a chemical resonance rippling through flesh. In the end, we are the universe contemplating itself, momentarily crystallized into consciousness before dissolving back into flux.

And what is matter but energy slowed into form? What is form but a temporary edifice erected by the laws of physics in their silent, eternal opera? The universe is its own miracle: a self-arising, self-organizing totality, a dance without a dancer, a song without a singer. To live, then, is not to seek escape from this world, but to surrender to it—to become one with the unending flow, to dissolve the illusion of separation and recognize that we are both the river, the wind, the flame, the earth, and the stars. Even now, as you read these words, the atoms in your body are migrating, exchanging places with the world around you.

There is no boundary where "you" end and "the world" begins; there is only continuity, an endless exchange of matter and energy, the universe breathing itself into being through the ephemeral vessel of your form. And when that form disintegrates, it will not vanish into nothingness but return to the flux, scattered across time and space, reconfigured into new patterns, new possibilities.

This is the poetry of existence: to see in every grain of sand the infinite, not because it points to another realm, but because it is the realm—because in its fleetingness, in its finitude, it embodies the eternal play of forces, the ceaseless becoming that is the universe itself. To love this world, not in spite of its transience but because of it, is to embrace the truth that all things are one and that being never ends.

It plays itself, endlessly, in a self-organizing dance that spirals out of void and returns to it, yet never ceases to be. This is the profound paradox of immanence: that from the apparent nothingness of the void springs everything, an unbroken lineage of becoming where nothing is ever truly created or destroyed—only transformed. A single atom of carbon in the body may once have been exhaled by a prehistoric flower, forged in the furnace of a distant star, or drifted in the vast silence of space for eons before finding itself here, now, as part of you.

There is no separation between self and other, no boundary that is not provisional. What you call "you" is a fleeting configuration of forces—an eddy in the river of time, held together momentarily by the fragile tension of form. When that tension dissolves, as it must, the river flows on, indifferent yet beautiful, carrying the same elements into new forms, new expressions of the one and same eternal dance. The past is not gone; it is here, sealed into the present as the memory of history. The future is not separate; it is already present as potential, as the unwritten story contained in every vibration, every movement of this vast interconnected web.

Each instant is both the sum of all that has come before and the seed of all that will follow—as if the cosmos holds its breath in every second. In this perpetual process, suffering and joy, creation and destruction, are not opposites but complementary expressions of the same unfolding. A supernova is a cataclysm, yet it births the elements of life; a forest fire is devastation, yet it clears the way for new growth. Even decay is an act of creation, as the molecules of a falling leaf become the soil in which new roots will spread.

To see the world this way is to embrace the raw magnificence of change—not as a tragedy, but as the condition for infinite becoming. Nothing is fixed, and therein lies the deepest truth: that existence is not a thing but a verb, not a static being but a perpetual becoming. And what of meaning? It is neither imposed from above nor absent altogether. Meaning arises from the connections we weave. To love, to wonder, to seek, to create—these are not acts of rebellion against a meaningless cosmos but affirmations of our role within its opening. We are not anomalies but extensions of its process, tendrils of the universe reaching toward itself in the extraordinary presence of self-awareness.

To live, then, is to participate knowingly in this cosmic dance, to be the pulse of time feeling its way through the infinite dark, not seeking an end but reveling in the endlessness of its own transformation. The sacred lies here, in the soil beneath our feet, the light that falls through the leaves, the breath that moves through our lungs, the fire that burns in our stars. This is the universe knowing itself—through the immanent, everchanging perfection of what is. In the depths of reality, there lies no substance beyond the ever-turning wheel of becoming, no essence apart from the flux itself. The universe, devoid of center or edge, unfolds as a boundless net of relations—each point interwoven with every other, each moment an echo of endless pasts, a seed for untold futures. Existence simply is, moving with no aim but its own persistence.

We are not observers standing apart from this vast symphony; we are participants, ties in the web of being, carriers of a transient awareness that flashes briefly, like sparks leaping from the fire, before dissolving back into the formless. Our thoughts, our desires, our very sense of self—each is a transient structure, a momentary alignment of matter and energy. And yet, in this alignment, the universe achieves a fleeting self-reflection, as if the cosmos momentarily gazes upon its own face through the fragile mirror of consciousness.

Look closely, and even the solidity of matter dissolves into a dance of probabilities, a quantum haze where particles are not things but events, not objects but occurrences—manifestations of the underlying field, vibrating into temporary form before vanishing once more into the void. The void itself is not nothingness but pure potential, a fertile emptiness from which all arises and to which all returns. It is the silent ground of being, the infinite backdrop against which the play of existence unfolds. In this endless becoming, there is no permanence, no being untouched by time’s flow.

The mountains crumble, the stars burn out, and even the atoms that compose them will eventually decay. But this decay is not loss—it is metamorphosis, the shedding of one form to give rise to another. Duration is not a flaw of reality; it is the fabric. To exist is to change, to be caught in the flow of transformation, to emerge and dissolve, endlessly. And yet, amidst this process, patterns arise—complex, beautiful, fleeting. The spiral of a galaxy, the branching of a river, the intricate dance of life—each a testament to the universe’s capacity for self-organization, for the spontaneous emergence of order from chaos.

Life itself, with its fragile complexity, is but one such pattern, a wave in the cosmic ocean, a momentary aggregate of molecules that becomes capable of thought, of wonder, of love. But love, too, is not a thing apart. It is the resonance of one pattern with another, the recognition of shared existence, the dissolution of boundaries in the face of interconnection. To love is to affirm the unity of all things, to see in the other not a separate entity but a different expression of the same underlying flow. In this, love becomes the highest form of knowledge, direct apprehension of the oneness that underlies all multiplicity. To live, then, is to flow with the current, to embrace the change of all things, to see in every moment the universe becoming itself anew. It is to relinquish the illusion of separateness, to dissolve into the whole, and in that dissolution, to find not loss but liberation—the freedom of being part of something infinite.

Each particle, a fragment of an ancient song, rearranges itself endlessly, crafting the fleeting forms of stars, stones, and sentient flesh. Consciousness, far from a possession of the individual, is the universe awakening to itself, an awareness that pulses through the veins of all beings. Your thoughts, my thoughts—they are not ours, for they belong to all and no one. They arise, flourish, and fade like waves upon an ocean that knows no beginning nor end. We are not separate observers of reality; we are the very process of reality observing itself, a flash of lucidity within the vast, indifferent cosmos.

The self is but a momentary nexus of relationships, a fleeting configuration of matter and memory, dissolving back into the great matrix from which it emerged. To live is to participate in the infinite becoming of the universe, each life a breath in the lungs of matter, each death a return to the boundless pool of energy. Nothing is truly born, and nothing truly perishes; forms dissolve only to reconfigure, like waves rising and falling in a boundless ocean. Consciousness, too, is no singular possession, no fortress of individuality, but a resonance within this universal flow—echoing through the orchestra of being. Each thought, each breath, is a transient manifestation of a untiring interplay, the cosmos contemplating itself through countless eyes, whispering its secrets in the language of neurons and stardust.

To live is to partake in this eternal self-revelation, to bear witness to the inexhaustible creativity of the universe, sculpting and remaking itself. The stone, the tree, the human—they are but varying intensities of the same substance, woven into a luminous web of interdependence, where the distinction between the observer and the observed dissolves. There is no separation, only the immanence of this ever-unfolding moment, the infinite echo of spacetime’s ceaseless yearning to become. Beneath the illusion of permanence lies a universe in flux, a boundless field where form emerges only to dissolve, where identity is but a fleeting wave upon the surface of an immeasurable ocean. The mountain, the river, the star, and the mind that contemplates them—they are all the same: configurations of the one substance, vibrating in different harmonies, each a transient articulation of the cosmos speaking itself into being.

There is no separation, no boundary where one ends and another begins—only gradients of continuity, a perpetual unfolding where every atom is kin to every star, every breath echoes the first motion, and every thought reverberates through the expansion of space and time. Consciousness is not confined to the fragile vessel of the self; it is the universe perceiving itself, a single awareness diffused and refracted through myriad forms. Your perception of the world is not yours—it is the world perceiving itself through the aperture of your existence. Each life, each moment of awareness, is the cosmos awakening anew, a transient opening for the eternal.

The "I" is a mirage conjured by the flux of neurons, a fleeting echo of matter momentarily aware of its own duration. And yet, in that awareness, something profound emerges: the recognition that all things are bound by the same pulse of existence, the same flow of becoming and unbecoming, forever intertwined. Time, too, is a construct of minds born of the flux, measuring what cannot be measured, dividing what is indivisible. The past and the future dissolve into one eternal now, a singular moment in which all things unfold. To exist is not to persist but to flow, to shift, to transform.

We are the universe in the act of becoming, not beings but becomings, events in an infinite sequence of metamorphoses, each one a fleeting expression of the potential contained within the matrix of reality. The cosmos is its own purpose, endlessly revealing itself in forms that arise and pass away. In this unfolding, nothing is lost, for nothing was ever separate to begin with.

Death is not an end but a return, a dissolution into the ocean of being from which we once arose. The atoms of our bodies, the currents of our thoughts, the very essence of our being—they will scatter, recombine, and emerge anew, forever cycling through the infinite permutations of existence. This is the sacred truth of immanence: that all things are one, that the many are but expressions of the One in its endless self-revelation, in the unceasing opening of the world. To see this is to dissolve illusions of selfhood, to awaken to the unity of all things, to become the dance itself, and in doing so, to embrace the spectacle of existence.

There is no fixed boundary, no enduring self; what we call identity is the cluster of atoms momentarily caught in the whirl of temporality. To grasp this is to see that all separation—between self and other, life and death, form and void—is an illusion spun by matter as it folds upon itself, seeking patterns amidst chaos. What we perceive as past, present, and future is the flux of one eternal now—matter and energy spiralling through forms that persist just long enough to evoke the semblance of continuity. We are stardust and entropy, the ashes of ancient explosions forged into flesh, thought, and desire.

What you feel as your consciousness is no more yours than the wind is owned by the mountain it touches; it is the whisper of a deeper coherence that binds all phenomena into one great interdependent web. To live is to dissolve into this flow, to awaken to the truth that what you hold dear is already on its way to becoming something else. Your breath now was once the exhalation of forests, the laughter of oceans, the sighs of ancient creatures. Your very thoughts arise from a brain sculpted by aeons of tides, yet they are not yours—they belong to the unfolding of life itself, a fractal of an awareness that blooms wherever conditions allow.

If we descend further into the heart of reality, we find that even the concepts of form and substance begin to erode, dissolving into a vast, indifferent continuum where distinctions blur and boundaries collapse. Matter itself, that which we once thought solid and enduring, reveals its essence as a fleeting vibration, a pulsation within a field of pure relation. There are no objects, only processes; no things, only events. What appears as form is merely the universe holding its breath, momentarily crystallizing before it exhales into the next becoming. And what of being? Even this dissolves into a paradox: existence is not a static state but a verb, an infinite unfolding without origin or destination.

To "be" is to become, and to become is to dissolve into becoming once again—a recursion without end, an eternal metamorphosis where every instant is both birth and death, creation and decay. There is no ground, no foundation upon which reality rests, only an abyss of potentiality, a bottomless well from which all forms emerge and into which all forms return. And yet, this abyss is not empty—it is fullness itself, a plenitude of possibility, a cosmic womb that gives rise to every particle, every star, every thought: It is not something that belongs to us, not a possession of the individual mind, but a shining spark of awareness arising wherever the conditions of complexity converge.

The brain is not the source of consciousness but its temporary conduit, a wave passing through a momentary crest of organized matter. And when the wave subsides, the consciousness it bore does not vanish; it is simply reabsorbed into the depths of potentiality, awaiting its next emergence under another form, another time, another place. Identity, too, is a fiction—a narrative constructed by a mind desperate to anchor itself over the flux. But there is no anchor, no fixed self to be found. The "I" is a constellation of memories, sensations, and desires, held together for a moment by the gravity of experience, only to scatter into the void when that gravity falls. What we call the self is nothing more than the universe contemplating itself through a temporal opening of experience.

You are not a being distinct from the cosmos but a temporary modulation of its endless flow, a wave cresting for a moment before collapsing back into the sea. In this view, life and death lose their opposition. Life is not a possession but a process, and death is not an end but a transformation. The atoms that compose your body, the energy that fuels your thoughts—they are ancient, recycled through countless forms, countless lives, countless stars. You are not merely in the universe; you are the universe, a local concentration of its infinite unfolding, a brief articulation of its boundless creativity.

When you dissolve, you do not disappear—you become the raw material for new forms, new lives, new awarenesses. The universe loses nothing; it only changes. And in this realization, there is liberation. To see oneself as a transient expression of the infinite is to shed the fear of loss, the illusion of separation, the burden of permanence. It is to awaken to the truth that we have never been apart from the cosmos, that we have always been the cosmos in its act of becoming. To live, then, is to flow within the current of existence, to embrace the temporality not as a curse but as the very essence of reality, to find in the ephemeral the infinite, and in the transient the eternal.

Each particle, each wave, is not a thing but a relationship, a point of tension where the boundless energy of existence takes fleeting form. Matter is not solid but an illusion of stability. And we—these intricate arrangements of stardust and chance—are not separate from this process but its continuation, its living edge, where the universe begins to feel, to know, to wonder at itself. Consciousness is not housed in a skull or tethered to a single body; it is the light that dances between atoms, the resonance of the cosmos refracted through myriads of eyes.

The thoughts you believe to be yours are the echo of an infinite becoming, the murmurs of a universe in conversation with itself. What you perceive as you is a transient knot of awareness, a momentary shape sculpted by an eternal river, no more distinct from the whole than a whirlpool is from the water. To let go of the illusion of individuality is not to lose yourself but to awaken to the fact that you were never lost—you were always this vast and seamless flow. Death, then, is no enemy but a transformation, a reorganization of the patterns through which the universe briefly spoke as you. It is the dissolution of one form so that others may emerge, the freeing of energy to be recast in the eternal experiment of existence. Just as your body is a mosaic of atoms once belonging to stars, so too will it scatter, joining the earth, the sky, and the breath of others yet to come.

And your consciousness, that glance of the infinite, does not vanish but returns to the great wellspring, ready to resurface wherever conditions permit. There is no centre, no final answer, only the ceaseless unfolding of a cosmos that neither demands nor offers meaning. Yet in this absence lies a sublime truth: that meaning is not given but made, netted from the threads of our interdependence with all things. We are the universe’s experiment in awareness, its transient yet glorious attempt to know its own nature, to reflect upon its endless dance.

To live fully is to dissolve into this flow, to embrace duration as the very ground of beauty - that is to see in every fleeting moment the infinite playing itself out. Every atom that composes us was forged in the heart of a dying star, scattered across the void, gathered again into the fleeting geometry of life, only to dissolve once more into the endless dance. What we call "consciousness" is not ours to possess but is the song of the universe singing itself through us, a single melody flowing through innumerous forms, from the hum of insects to the roar of galaxies. We are no more separate from the ocean that laps our shores than a wave is from the sea; each of us is a crest, momentarily rising, shaped by the winds of circumstance, destined to fold back into the vast sea.

To exist is to participate in this boundless interplay, to be both sculptor and clay in the morphogenesis of the real, this borderless immanence, this luminous flux, the world endlessly revealing itself through the eyes of stars and the breath of beings. Every form we take, every breath we draw, is but a moment of an eternal flow—atoms in their infinite dance, weaving through time and space, indifferent to the transient boundaries we call "self". There is no division between you and me, no singularity of consciousness lodged behind the eyes; there is only the singular rhythm of existence, vibrating through all sentient beings like a universal refrain.

We are arrangements of the same substance, constellations of molecules borrowing form from chaos. In this morphogenesis, birth and death dissolve into illusions, mere surges upon the surface of a vast cycle that knows no beginning and no end. Here, consciousness is not owned, not possessed—it is one universal awareness flickering across a million eyes, flowing through veins of flesh and root alike. Existence is its own cause, its own delight: an infinite multiplicity folding in on itself, each fold a new cosmos, a new song. We are, in Whitman's words, "not contained between our hats and boots", but the earth itself thinking, the stars dreaming, the atoms dancing.

When we dissolve back into the stream, we lose nothing, for we were never separate from it. To be means simply to flow, to shift, to merge—in every passing moment, to sing the quiet hymn of duration. Like Whitman’s poetic embrace of the multitude, we find ourselves everywhere and in everything. My hand is the hand of the earth shaping itself, my breath the exhalation of ancient forests. There is no separation between self and world, no fracture between mind and matter. Consciousness is a flicker of awareness ignited by the intricate organization of matter, only to extinguish and reappear elsewhere, eternally reborn under new forms.

Each moment is a fragment of the cosmos experiencing itself, as if the universe, in its restless flowering, speaks through us in a language of sensations, thoughts, and desires. Yet these are not ours to hold; they are waves that pass through, whirlpools in a river that knows no bounds. Duration is not a tragedy but the essence of vitality: it is the constant flux that allows creation. To live is to participate, to affirm creation without clinging to any particular single shape. Nothing is above or beyond. Like Whitman’s open embrace of the cosmos, we are both singular and universal, finite expressions of an infinite process, each moment a shimmering instant of the whole discovering itself.

Life, then, is not something that happens to us but something we are—a brief yet profound articulation of the universal substance: Every structure, every organism, every thought is a temporary stabilization of flows that will dissolve and reconstitute elsewhere. In this sense, we are not beings, but becomings, momentary configurations in an infinite process of morphogenesis. Not as a linear progression, but as a continual improvisation. Consciousness, then, is not the exclusive domain of individual minds. It is not a private theater hidden behind the veil of skin and skull. Rather, it is a field of apparition that repeats through every sentient being. Thought is not the act of a subject contemplating an object, but the process of life itself thinking through us.

We are fragments of a cosmic consciousness distributed across space and time, each of us a knot in an infinite web of interrelations, where the boundaries between self and other dissolve into a fluid continuum of existence. Whitman sensed this immanence when he wrote: "I am large, I contain multitudes". He recognized that the self is porous, open, and interdependent with the world around it. The breath we draw is the exhalation of trees, the sunlight upon our skin the fusion of distant stars. The atoms that compose our bodies were forged in the heart of ancient suns, scattered across the cosmos, and reassembled here, now, in this fleeting form. We are stardust made conscious, the universe momentarily gazing back upon itself through human eyes.

In this dance of atoms and flows, we are both participants and spectators, both the creators and the created. We are the waves upon the ocean, each of us distinct and yet inseparable from the whole. As Whitman whispers across time: "To die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier". For in death, we do not vanish—we flow, we merge, we continue in the infinite play of life and energy, becoming once more part of the ever-unfolding cosmos, where everything is, and always will be, in the middle of things.

The world is not a collection of static things but a continuous flow of events, occasions of experience where matter and meaning coalesce. Every atom, every particle, every life is a site where the universe actualizes itself, drawing from the depths of its potential to sculpt new realities. We are not separate from this cosmic process; we are this process, localized intensities of the whole, fleeting expressions of its coming into being. To live is to inhabit this web of relations, to be a node where the universe feels itself, reflects itself, and transforms itself. My body is not mine but a temporary arrangement of stardust, an ephemeral constellation within the cosmic flow.

My thoughts are not mine but echoes of the universe thinking through me, resonances of its infinite possibilities. The distinction between self and world dissolves; consciousness is not a possession of individuals but a property that emerges wherever matter achieves the complexity to reflect upon itself. A vast ocean of becoming invites us to abandon the notion of substance as something fixed and inert, replacing it with a vision of reality as a web of interrelated processes—events rather than things, relations rather than essences. Each electron, each star, each blade of grass participates in the cosmic melody, not as isolated notes but as harmonies resonating.

Every event, every encounter, every breath we take is an act of prehension—a grasping of the past, a synthesis of the present, and a projection into the future. Time, in this framework, is not a linear sequence of moments ticking away toward oblivion. It is a spiral, a process of concrescence where past, present, and future interpenetrate, each moment inheriting the entirety of the previous and adding to it something entirely new. We are not bound by the illusion of separateness; we are not isolated monads floating in a void. Instead, we are becomings-with, co-creators in a universe that is constantly re-inventing itself, a universe where every moment is a birth and every death a transformation into new life.

We are not here to cling to form but to flow through it, to embrace the duration that is the hallmark of all things. In this sense, we are like rivers—always moving, always changing, yet always part of the larger cycle of water that connects oceans, clouds, and rain. Consciousness, too, is not a thing but a process, a becoming conscious that permeates all levels of reality. It is not confined to human minds but flows through all beings, a field of awareness that emerges wherever complexity allows. We are not individual minds encased in flesh but knots in a cosmic network of experience, each of us a window through which the universe contemplates itself, the very process where each event is both a culmination of what has come before and a seed for what is yet to come.

Nothing possesses intrinsic being; all forms, thoughts, and phenomena arise in a web of co-arising, each contingent upon the other, like reflections on the surface of water stirred by the wind. All things are interlaced, each point inseparable from the whole, each moment a blossoming of the totality. The universe is an infinite net of jewels, each reflecting all others in a luminous display of interpenetration. What appears as separation is illusion; what seems solid is but the dance of atoms, energy folding and unfolding within itself. To see deeply into the nature of being is to recognize that we are both the jewel and the reflection, the part and the whole, the wave and the ocean.

Our minds are the cosmos beholding itself through one of its eyes. Like the jeweled net, each of us reflects the whole, and the whole shines through each of us. To live is to affirm this interdependence, this unity-indifference, this endless expression of the One becoming many, and the many revealing the One. The sacred is here, in the atoms that hum, the stars that blaze, and the breath that moves through us, binding us inseparably to all that is.

We are the living breath of an infinite void—not a void of absence, but one of boundless potential, a generative emptiness from which all form engenders and into which all form dissolves. This is the heart of the great emptiness at the core of being, not a nihilistic void but a fertile ground of interdependent becoming. There is no essence, no substance, no self that exists independently; all things arise in a mutual causation, dependent co-arising, that reveals the world as made of relationships. Each moment, each entity, each thought is a knot in this vast network of interdependence, where nothing possesses its own being but exists only through the interplay of conditions, forever entwined with them all.

We are not separate beings navigating a hostile universe; we are the universe itself, unfolding in myriad forms, each of us a node in the infinite web, each of us a reflection of the whole. The atoms that compose our bodies, the thoughts that shine through our minds, the breath we draw and release—all are part of this cosmic dance where emptiness reveals itself as fullness, and fullness as emptiness. All phenomena are empty of intrinsic existence, no entity exists independently or permanently. Instead, everything is constituted by its relations, emerging from and dissolving into the ever-shifting configurations of matter and energy.

Just as a wave is inseparable from the ocean’s dynamics, all forms arise contingently, with no fixed essence. Emptiness becomes not a metaphysical void but the recognition of an active dialectics, from atomic interactions to ecological systems and neural networks. It denies both absolute determinism and randomness, emphasizing the conditionality of existence within a continuum. Atoms, stars, and organisms are temporary bundles, constantly transforming through the processes of decay, growth, and recombination.

The "self" is an emergent phenomenon, a construct arising from the interactions of brain processes, sensory input, and social conditioning. There is no fixed "I", only an active flux of mental and physical processes, constantly reshaped by experience and context, mirroring the insight into the illusory nature of the ego. The pervasive unsatisfactoriness of conditioned existence can be understood as a consequence of the tension between transient desires and impermanent reality. This reflects the evolutionary origins of craving, attachment, and aversion, which arise as adaptive mechanisms in living organisms.

Recognizing the impermanence and interdependence of phenomena can dissolve the illusion of solidity that underlies suffering, offering a path to an equanimity grounded in reality. Karma can be the recognition that actions pulsate through systems, influencing outcomes in both immediate and far-reaching ways. Ethical responsibility comes from understanding these causal networks and their impact on the collective material and social world. The vow to alleviate the suffering of all beings can be understood as an ethical imperative grounded in the recognition of our shared being-with.

Altruism, compassion, and care for the world become expressions of the awareness that we are part of a larger system where the well-being of the whole enhances the flourishing of all its parts. The distinction between conventional and ultimate truth can be interpreted as the difference between our conceptual models of the world (constructed, practical truths) and the underlying processes of matter and energy in space and time (ultimate realities). This dual perspective allows us to navigate the world pragmatically while recognizing its deeper nature.

Every entity, from subatomic particles to human consciousness, arises through complex networks of interactions, existing only in relation to others. Nothing possesses intrinsic existence or independent essence—a perspective that dismantles dualistic separations between mind and body, self and other, subject and object. All phenomena are empty of an inherent nature, existing as aggregates of matter and energy. In physics, this resonates with the idea that particles are not fundamental objects but excitations within fields. Structures we perceive—atoms, cells, ecosystems—are temporary stabilizations within dynamic processes, an alignment of conditions.

Suffering arises from craving and clinging, rooted in the organism’s evolutionary imperative to seek pleasure and avoid pain. The illusion of a permanent self, a byproduct of continuity of experience, exacerbates this suffering. The sense of self is a construct subject to constant menaces. Meditation deconstructs this illusory self, fostering awareness of its impermanence and interdependence, reconfiguring habitual patterns. Matter and energy, endlessly recombining in space and time, form the very ground of existence, where the play of dependent origination unfolds. All forms are empty of intrinsic existence, not as negation but as an affirmation of their relational nature: nothing stands alone, and everything is intertwined.

Whitman’s poetic embrace of the cosmos gives this immanent vision its lyrical dimension: every atom that composes us is shared with stars, rivers, and trees; every breath ties us to the primordial currents of air and life. We are jewels in the infinite net, each reflecting all others, each embodying the totality. The boundary between subject and object, observer and observed, collapses into a profound recognition of unity in difference, where the One expresses itself as the many, and the many reveal the One: to care for others is to care for oneself, for there is no separation between the two.

Acceptance of the meaninglessness of the universe has left me with a liberation of self. I've come to accept myself as I am in all it's flaws and perfections. The idea that existing is futile in the grand scheme of things has opened pandoras box to express myself as completely what I am. It has given me the strength to ignore and disregard the political and global bombardment of "bad vibes bro". In my life only the things I PUT VALUE TO matter to me. The only thing that does matter is the now. Living in the moment you are in now. No past or future exist simply the ever changing frames of now. Love thy enemy and thy friend. Pray for my enemies.

So fuck your existential guilt and moral masturbation. Be happy because why not. Laugh. Love. Live

our lives are 95% suffering in one way or another just waiting for the 5% that we tell ourselves is why all of this is worth it. put food in the body 4 times a day, drink water every hour, expell said sustanence and repeat until the body breaks. drag yourself to work to do the same thing every day slowly becoming just a monotonous pair of arms, dulling and distracting yourself from how much being trapped in this body hurts. everything we think and feel is based on instincts, hormones, habits, our past, and chemicals. we arent "us" despite what the ego tells us, we are a random organism spawned here by an anomally and given constant desires, needs, and the feeling we have free will as 'individual'. im not writing this out free will.

but being here still hurts. and i have a primal aversion to pain as all other creatures that unfortunately have spawned here for the sake of pointless reproduction do. i do not want to drag my nuts through glass (pointless unnecessary humor the brain produced to reduce my organisms cortisol levels) for decades when there is no end goal. not a second longer than i have to.

i get it, it doesnt matter, we suffer until we die pointlessly either way. boo hoo.

my question is why shouldnt i blow my brains out to make this stop? and why dont more people? am i just a fucking pussy? i cant fathom why i would choose to live for pains sake when i am built to avert it. the modern world runs on the hope for a better future that never is attained but, well, we got your soul while you chased it now run along to the nursing home you old fuck.

even if happiness is achieved (always temporary) and sustained throughout a higher percentage of ones life relative to the rest of the population, as opposed to suffering for decades like the average fuck(again, the cortisol thing), whats the difference? it does not matter. in the blink of an eye 100 years pass and not even a trace of who we were will exist. we are an anomally. a random organsim. we forget 99% of everything that happens before we die.

why shouldnt i get this over with already? i hate senseless effort. "i" dont want to feel pain forever. this senseless organism wants to know why we should drag ourselves through this curse.

feel free to also just go tell the narrator of this to go fuck itself

everything is constant

Not happiness, not a “good life” not success not joy. Absolutely nothing. We are one out of many. We eventually dissolve into nothingness. The sooner we realize we are not special, the better

I want to fall inlove before i die but it seems that for most people being a misanthropic recluse is taboo. You are expected to be passionate about life,society and your career. I don't like interacting with the general public and i only do because i care about money. My issue is not being rejected obviously i understand, but my issue is the pathologizing of such feelings or other misunderstandings and false accusations that might arise. Hope i am making sense

After the election I’ve seen so much racism and homophobia and it’s just made me feel like what’s the point. Americans chose hate for money. Everyday my brain is like why do we hate each other. At the end of the day these identities don’t matter. As long as we dont hurt each other or ourselves. And if you want to fight then find like minded people and fight them. Life and its hardships with others just doesn’t make any sense