Existential questions emerge in a consciousness that is trapped inside a cubicle and distorted shadow of a man is reflected from a blank monitor. What am I doing with my life? What am I doing with the limited time I have on this Earth? What is time? If what we do defines us then I am a tiny island in the ocean of meaningless tasks, trying to glance what lies in the horizon though always blinded by the waves of incorporeal assignments. I am a hollow statue that only appears to look human, the emptiness inside me is an echo of my actions. I persist to live in a vain hope of better future.
For humans time appears to be linear, they are riding on the Arrow of Time to one direction, however, on a microscopic level time is irrelevant and things are time-symmetric. It doesn’t matter which way the atoms travel. Past is just illusion, the time spent in this space exist only in subjective time capsules called memories that are stored biochemically in the brain and can be presented in many forms such as writing. The past is inconsequential.
Future is the sum of probable possibilities, also an illusion, it creates false hopes for individuals that things will change for the better in time. Humans also tend to spend most of their brief period of existence thinking about future or the past. Due to limited abilities of humans they don’t remember tomorrow as they do yesterday.
What about the present moment, is it core of reality? Past and future are projected from present, as fistful of sand flows through the fingers, thus present is ever fleeing from grasp. When you think about it, it is already gone. Present is just a momentary presentation where you are in hunt of hedonism and evasion of pain, inaccurate description of your current stage created by derisory senses and cognitive evaluation of that stimulus. What remains when present, past and future are trivial illusions of one whole? Are humans drifting in the waves of time without purpose?
What if everything from the Big Bang to this passing moment in time when the obscure image stares back from depth of darkness, and all the way to end of the Universe is just a dream of a hologram? Everything that you or anyone else have done or will ever do, all the things that occur in the Universe during it existence, vanished when it awakes from its slumber. They become a vague imprint on the conscious hologram’s memory storage that it can hardly recollect.
What does it matter what I do or don’t do? Cause and effect, past and future, present worries over them, endless pursuit to reach something better in the rat race of life, what does it all matter in the end? Even if this all is not a fantasy of a hologram, the same questions remain. One can of course create meaning to one’s own life to make it seem like it has some value but it’s like painting a pretty picture over concrete wall. What is this…the bizarre shadow is gone and the monitor is on. Consciousness shifts to other matters. Post it stickers remind you of what things needs to be done today, 14 new emails grave attention in the inbox, it is time to start doing the day’s work.