I never once thought about where everything came from... and then I read Genesis... and thought I didn't care, I said "Ok, cool."
Later on, being in the extremely rare and fortunate situation of having tolerant, loving, intelligent, open-minded parents who wanted their children to fully experience the beauty of life rather than try to correct their own "mistakes" by spawning mindless drones into the world, I came into contact with various cultures’ stories about where everything came from, and though I didn’t care, I said “Ok, cool.”
Later still, I was taught that we really came about in a remote corner of a universe, vast beyond comprehension, after a series of random events created favourable conditions for chemicals to self-replicate and life began its long journey, of which I was the pinnacle, apparently. And though I didn't care I said "Ok, cool."
So, now I had plenty of options to choose from, and though I didn’t care, nor did I have a reason to, I was told, directly or indirectly, that I had to pick something to believe in; that humanity had struggled with these fundamental questions since the beginning of time, and who was I not to care? Was I not human? How could I truly be alive if I didn’t know where life came from? So I began my own struggle, trying to make sense of notions too fantastic and incompatible with what my experience of reality had become or simply too enormous for my tiny little blob of gray matter to grasp.
I tried to enforce and reinforce my beliefs, I also tried to discredit and disprove them. I jumped from one to another, and then back again and again. I had moments of unshakable conviction and moments of quivering doubt.
It was the chicken, then it was the egg, then it was cloning, then it was the egg experiencing itself subjectively through all the chickens, then it was a frying pan splattering the egg all over the place...
Until one day I remembered that I didn’t care! What really mattered was that I was alive! No other confused human being’s idea, as charismatic and backed-up by “objective”, “irrefutable” “facts” as it was, really mattered at all.
I remembered my childhood, when I felt more alive than ever, and what living and learning was all about then – not about knowing, but about doing, without any fear of what had already happened or any fear of what might’ve happened next!
If we never stop learning, why do we allow ourselves to stop living?
I still wonder. I just don’t care again.
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