An Immortal’s Journal Page

There are things in this existence that not even a genius can understand— miracles, worldly dimensions, paranormal phenomenon, purpose…

It’s commonly understood there are reasons for everything. There must be a cause in order to achieve an effect. Nothing can happen without it being the direct result of something else that has happened. Most importantly, there must be an answer to every question, the trick is merely finding it and understanding it. I’ve had so much time to ponder this common logic lately. All an immortal spirit has is time. Time…

Lately, I’ve found myself questioning the accuracy of this common logic. Is there really meant to be an answer to every question? A mortal would most certainly think so. While most use their faith in fictional beings to end their quest for truth before it even begins, there are those that attribute the lack of these ‘answers’ to the limited time they have to find it. It’s an advanced game of hide-and-seek.

A mortal will use up the short lifespan granted to them to seek out these ‘answers‘ that they ‘know‘ to exist. If they die before they find it, they’ve simply lost the game. They ran out of time before they could reach the finish line; leaving their game tokens behind for their successors to pick up. ‘Step right up and dig through the haystack! I guarantee there’s a needle there!

But is there really a needle at all? Must one come to the conclusion that ‘some answers are never meant to found’ in order to be satisfied with their defeat? Would it really be so bad to admit that all along, the answers you so desperately sought to find— the invisible needle in the haystack— was little more than a race to a dead end—a lie? Would it be such a blow to mortal pride to admit that there never were any answers? They don’t exist now, they didn’t exist then, nor will they ever exist.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Time is the one behind the gaming booth yelling ‘step right up!’ Time… all I have is time. All there ‘is’ is time. Does any of it make any sense? Is it supposed to make sense? When I was a living and breathing human, I wouldn’t have been satisfied unless it made sense. I wouldn’t have been satisfied unless I could find and hold the needle in my hand— feel its tip break through the skin of my finger.

 

An excerpt from a book I am currently working on, Higher Elements.

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