For the confusion of this world

The universe isn't a part of anything bigger. Dwelling on that thought makes my heart completely empty and completely full at the same time. Is there any bigger tragedy in humans' lives than being able to understand the insignificance of everything? How utterly beautiful and brutal.

I walked through the pitch dark forest to the rocks and laid down on my back. Every time I'm facing the night sky like that, three hundred and sixty degrees, I think about the same things. I wish I could capture the moment when you can feel the vast emptiness around you and the fact that we can't see behind the universe. And give that thought to somebody. And get the same feeling from them. This is all you've got. You'll never know what it's about, but you can feel it, witness everything. I feel lucky to be able to see it even for a second. Don't live like it's the last day of your life, live like it's the first one. Seize everything. Breathe every moment like you've never breathed before. 

Being unhappy is a crime towards the life itself

- I hate birthdays. I hate every new age. It's a countdown to my death.
- There's no sense in living like that. You can't live hating each new year, you simply can't possibly enjoy your life like that. Be sensible: you can't do anything about this matter, so why worry about it?
- Exactly, I can't do anything about this matter! I can merely stand and watch the time pass. It's like running blind towards a cliff not knowing when you're going to fall. The powerlessness makes me frustrated, angry and sad, because I just want to live.
- I know you love your life but you should focus on the things that are good and see that you get so many of those amazing experiences and places and people every single year that comes, instead of worrying about the time that has been given to you. You can't live like that, woman!
- I know what it sounds like. And I highly appreciate you being able to live like you do. It makes me envious. But I couldn't live like that. This is what my life is like. It makes me real, and it makes me feel this world. It makes me feel it through my fingertips and eyes and ears and love each single detail I see. In this world everything is inspiring. Everything is beautifully complex or beautifully simple. Feelings are true and pure but not overwhelming. And then in the right scale nothing has any purpose or any significance whatsoever. In the most beautiful moments when I look around I see the world as if it was already gone. The fact that evidently everything I see will be lost in time forever makes me want to cry tears that spring from both happiness and powerless sorrow. Knowing that everything I have is borrowed as if I was already dead makes it all a billion times more beautiful. My life is to sadly love what I see. And to feel I never want to leave this world.

Hillitä veren ja ruumiin rajua kiihkoa, joka pistelee silmiäni mielettömällä riemulla

When I read the thoughts of these men of 19th or 20th century I feel a great desire to be able to see myself facing the inevitable death full of such blissful peace that M felt. But even though I can very well say I've been happy like him, I don't think I would be capable of accepting such horrifying destiny without being crushed by endless terror. Sometimes in the night time when I listen to allah akbar thinking of the desert at night I feel strong longing and insensible restlessness, for I believe that after seeing that view I might be able to die happy. After that feeling I might be able to pinpoint my location in the universe and state that I know what I am. And yet all of a sudden I can see myself lying on the golden sand watching my life slip through my fingers. If something happened to me in the desert, I might die in front of the most beautiful sight of my life but I would nonetheless be filled with horror.

Lev Nikolajevits Myskin tells about a man sentenced to death, who splits his very last five minutes to three parts: two minutes for saying farewell to his loved ones, two minutes for thinking about himself and his life and the last minute for looking around. And I think I would stare at the sky trying to see all of the universe behind it, feel myself a part of it and be happy and thankful for my life. How can I ever leave this world?

v = fλ

This is all very lovable. We're waves. Every cell of our bodies, decluding the brain, renew on average every seven years. Cells in skeletal muscles renew on average every fifteen years and in non-epithelial intestinal tissue the average age of cells is sixteen years. People say everything we have is borrowed, and I talk about it physically. We were all stellar matter, once all our quarks united to form the nucleons in our bodies, and that's fucking great. We're, in its deepest meaning, a part of the universe. However, besides the lend of my atoms, the most thankful I am for the manner in which my atoms form my body, permitting a consciousness. The fact that I know I'm a wave. Makes me fucking pleased. EXQUISITE.

Vaari

The river

Why can't you all stay. Life is so short that I get claustrophobic.

One night I sit in a friend's kitchen and on the halfway of the wine bottle she tells me about panic attacks in which one feels as close to death as possible, still being alive. "The worst one can go through, and that a hundred times." She spills wine on her dress and as I do the dishes I think about how much I love her and her tiny apartment, the painted walls and the photograph beside the bed. I love the fact that there is someone with whom I can talk about death.

These years have made me live. I've learned to relax. I've learned to reveal some of myself. I've learned to express my endless excitement by running and shouting and waving my hands. And still I'm afraid that I will never in my life find a way to express my inner love for living, the strange fear and will for adventure. I'm disappointed with myself, because what used to make me live nowadays makes me dull and I have a terrible need for a congenial company, mad experiences and the bizarre and exciting feeling of being one with the world.

I get out of this head by filling my thoughts with people and often that seems to be the only way out. She said, "sometimes it breaks my heart and sometimes it’s killing me", and I could say the same about so many things.

And I wonder whether the person sitting next to me ever thinks about the same things as I do

Perspective.

Electrically charged elementary particles form electrically neutral objects. If one looked close up they would look like an endless desert consisting of numerous units linked to each other by an electric interaction. One could live a whole life observing the features of each one of them, write an encyclopedia of five parts. Then finally, in the end one would raise one's look satisfied to see endless similar shapes repetitively surrounding one, strecting to eternity. And understand the insignificance of such a complicated object. A drop in a galactic sea, an atom in the empty space between groups of galaxies.

We live 30 000 short lives. Each one can not be good, but every single one seems to have a purpose. I spend a day sitting in an old house, surrounded by echoes, staring in front of me and calculating simplified simulations of The Real World, because I will need that skill in the future. I feel joy of success, I feel pride; because of a single cup of warm, soft coffee I feel endless pleasure. When sitting late in the night in a tram travelling through darkness I am able to enjoy the soft lights, the content look on a man's face and the familiar melody I've been longing for the whole day.

Is an outcome the sum of its individual parts? When from close up one sees the variations of electric charge and from a distance the galaxy groups spinning around dark matter, what ever could be the right perspective? Is a day equally valuable to a year, a decade, a lifetime? What is the sum of the parts?

Does a happy life consist of a daily cup of warm coffee and an absent-minded touch on the arm, is twenty-four hours the right scale for a human?