The Romance of Doubt

By Jin-yeong Yi

LH 95 stellar nursery in the Large Magellanic Cloud

“Truth is at the bottom of the abyss; and the abyss is bottomless.”

—Democritus

“Nothing can be known, not even this.”

—Carneades

“The problem with certainty is that it is static; it can do little but endlessly reassert itself. Uncertainty, by contrast, is full of unknowns, possibilities, and risks.”

—Stephen Batchelor, Confession of a Buddhist Atheist

“It’s the question that drives us…”

—Trinity, The Matrix

What is the God of the skeptic? It’s not science. It’s Mystery.

I don’t know if the world I see in front of me is real or an illusion, but I choose to engage it anyway.

I’m like the protagonist of the biblical parable of the prodigal son, except that I have it together a little better than the son: instead of mindlessly squandering all of my resources and letting myself end up penniless and in a pig farm (in other words, exhausting my energy on indulgence and caprice and letting myself end up in an intellectual ghetto), I am exercising due caution and moderation in my exploration of this strange world, admiring a tree here and a mountain range there as I attempt to map the terrain.

Instead of the safe but small house of the father, my mind is out in the world, with the vastness of the universe before me. There’s always apprehension and fear as to what I might find, but also a kind of freedom that comes from being able to think beyond all imaginary boundaries.

I imagine that it’s like being in the middle of nowhere in outer space: no left or right, up or down–nothing but my own sense of orientation. There’s no destination, only the journey. The journey is the destination.

It’s paradoxical: part of me wants to be found, but another part of me enjoys being lost. For it is the latter whence comes the greatest adventures.

“To pose a question entails that you do not know something. To ask ‘Who is the abbot?’ means that you do not know who the abbot is. To ask ‘What is this?’ means that you do not know what this is. To cultivate doubt, therefore, is to value unknowing. To say ‘I don’t know’ is not an admission of weakness or ignorance, but an act of truthfulness: an honest acceptance of the limits of the human condition when faced with ‘the great matter of birth and death.’ This deep agnosticism is more than the refusal of conventional agnosticism to take a stand on whether God exists or whether the mind survives bodily death. It is the willingness to embrace the fundamental bewilderment of a finite, fallible creature as the basis for leading a life that no longer clings to the superficial consolations of certainty.”

—Stephen Batchelor, Confession of a Buddhist Atheist

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The Suicide’s Wager

By Jin-yeong Yi

Craps

In late 2006, Ludwig Minelli, a Swiss lawyer and the founder of Switzerland-based assisted dying organization Dignitas, provoked controversy when he advocated for clinically depressed Britons the right to assisted suicide. Argued Mr. Minelli:

“I think we should find a modern attitude to the problem of suicide.
“We should see in principle suicide as a marvellous possibility given to human beings because they have a conscience to withdraw themselves from situations which are bearable for them.
“If you accept the idea of personal autonomy, you can’t make conditions that only terminally ill people should have this right.”[1]

British anti-assisted suicide organization Care Not Killing points out that there is always the future possibility that those suffering from depression, including the terminally ill, will change their minds about taking their lives. Of the latter, a spokesman said, “Almost invariably, they change their minds over time… and die in due course peacefully and with dignity.”[2]

The argument that someone could change their minds later on is interesting and worthy of consideration. That we do change our minds is a given. Two lovers might get married, each of them completely convinced that the other is “the one,” only to experience disillusionment and divorce a few years later. One might ask, should a father refuse to give his daughter’s hand in marriage to her lover because either of them “might” change their mind at some point down the road?

I do not deny that suicide is another animal altogether. Some decisions, such as the acceptance of a position at a company or the purchase of a new car, can be reversed upon changing one’s mind. But the termination of one’s existence can never be reversed.

As a thought experiment, I’ll put forth a wager that is, structurally, not unlike Pascal’s Wager. It goes something like this:

(0) There is no afterlife in which you will be punished for committing suicide. Death is final. (Assumption)

(1A) If you commit suicide, and your future would have been worthwhile, then you have lost.

(1B) If you commit suicide, and your future would not have been worthwhile, then you have neither gained nor lost.

(2A) If you don’t commit suicide, and your future turns out to be worthwhile, then you have gained.

(2B) If you don’t commit suicide, and your future does not turn out to be worthwhile, then you have neither gained nor lost.

(3) Either way, there is no permanent gain or loss, as death is final. The only question that remains is the amount of time that separated one state from another.

As you may have noticed, this wager ignores the consequences that the potential suicide’s actions might have on other people. It is generally assumed that it is “better” for everyone else–or at least not harmful–if a potential suicide continues to live, but admittedly we cannot know this for sure. There’s no telling what events the combination of genetic-environmental factors and happenstance will give rise to during the course of one’s life. John Smith’s suicide might mean the financial ruin of his struggling family, but his survival might mean the unpremeditated murder of his dictatorial boss. The possibilities are endless. Causality might lead him to drive drunk and accidentally hit someone 18 years later. Causality might lead him to get married and produce a prodigy that will go on to make vital contributions to theoretical physics. That is perhaps the chief weakness of a purely consequentialist ethic: as there is no reliable way to predict the future, there is no telling just how one’s existence and choices will impact the world one inhabits, and whether it will ultimately be for the “better” or for the “worse.”

If I have a point, it is this: that we simply don’t know, and that there’s no way of knowing whether the decisions we make are ultimately the “best” ones, and this is because the future is always uncertain. Every action we take or do not take is a gamble to some degree. Suicide is no exception. All we really have are our thoughts and emotions in the present, the fragmented memories of the thoughts and emotions we had in the past, and our clumsy speculations about what might be and what might have been.

Notes

[1] http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-406174/Clinically-depressed-allowed-assisted-suicide.html

[2] http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/switzerland/5369613/Swiss-suicide-clinic-helped-depressed-man-die.html

Thanking God It’s Friday (with Reservations)

By Jin-yeong Yi

George Bellows - Dempsey and Firpo

“Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place, and I don’t care how tough you are, it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done! Now, if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody. Cowards do that… [U]ntil you start believing in yourself, you ain’t gonna have a life.”

—Rocky, Rocky Balboa 

During the daily grind of work, one repeatedly recalls the scene in the Shawshank Redemption where Warden Norton, having had Tommy murdered by Captain Hadley, pays Andy a visit after leaving him in isolation and darkness for a month.

Andy: I’m done. Everything stops… Get someone else to run your scams.

Norton: Nothing stops. Nothing. Or you will do the hardest time there is. No more protection from the guards. I’ll pull you out of that one-bunk Hilton and cast you down with the sodomites. You’ll think you’ve been fucked by a train. And the library? Gone. Sealed off, brick by brick. We’ll have us a little book barbecue in the yard. They’ll see the flames for miles. We’ll dance around it like wild Injuns. You understand me? Catchin’ my drift? …Or am I being obtuse? 

“Nothing stops.” Although Norton here is presumably talking about the money laundering operations, I also detect a profound, metaphysical truth hidden in his eloquently twisted speech: nothing in Nature stops. Its laws are forever in effect, and they are constantly bringing forth and setting into motion objects and events. The cosmos is one wild ride, and we are powerless to stop it.

The Warden’s words can also be interpreted in a third sense, which has to do with the nature of work. If Norton is an archetype of the tyrannical executive, then the scene in question can be read as an illustration of the totalitarian grip that the demands of modern society have over our lives, particularly in the form of the modern job.

What I realized during my first job was that the workweek is a lot like a boxing match, with three chief differences being that 1) it is more psychological than physical, 2) it is one-sided in that you are only receiving the blows, not dealing them, and 3) it goes on for an indefinite number of rounds–often dozens upon dozens of rounds. Your spirit is subjected to blow after blow, from the morning commute to the office to the eight hour workday to the evening commute back home. The traffic hits you, your customers hit you, your boss hits you, your colleagues hit you, an unexpected illness hits you, your family hits you. You can never hit back. You can trying throwing a punch, but you can never hit anything but the concrete manifestations of what the world throws at you–you can never actually hit the world itself. All you can do is weather the blows as best as you can, for as long as you can.

In Calvin and Hobbes, Calvin says, “I can never enjoy Sundays because, in the back of my mind, I always know I’ve got to go back to school the next day. It’s like trying to enjoy your last meal before the execution.” Substitute ‘work’ for ‘school,’ and boy, how relevant and spot-on it is! When the workweek draws to a close, we gratefully say, “Thank God it’s Friday,” but in the back of our minds we know that a weekend is just another brief rest period, in which we hastily ice and patch up the wounds of our weary and battered spirits before the bell rings for the next round.

Nothing stops. Nothing.

Heavy Metal: The Soundtrack to Your Existence

By Jin-yeong Yi

Bill Harrison - Urban decay

“The trick in my situation was that there was no trick, no matter what the movies tell you–
No rules, no secret mantra, no road map.
It wasn’t about how smart or how good you were.
It was chaos and luck, and anyone who thought different was a fool.
All you could do was to hang on madly, as long and hard as you could.”

—Max Payne, Max Payne

I got into heavy metal in the middle of high school, when a friend and avid metalhead introduced me to Metallica. At that time, I was still a Christian, so I made a point of staying away from any “Satanic” bands, particularly Slayer, which my friend was a devotee of (to the point of carving the band’s name into his arm). I remember the days in which my choices of metal songs to play on the guitar were limited to bands that weren’t “Satanic” or anti-Christian (or at least not overtly so), such as Children of Bodom, Dream Theater, Kalmah, and Megadeth. I also listened to the Christian metal bands Extol and Lengsel. No Burzum, Darkthrone, Deicide, Dissection, Emperor, Gorgoroth, Mayhem, Morbid Angel, or Slayer for me–no siree, Bob.

As I would find out before long, heavy metal is really not the kind of genre in which one can afford to be constrained by taboo. It’s like trying to avoid all of the religious composers in classical music (from Bach to Rachmaninoff)–there’s just too much to miss out on. This I came to understand very well when I discovered bands like Asphyx, Atheist, Beherit, Demoncy, Enslaved, Gorguts, Hypocrisy, Immolation, Necrophobic, Profanatica, Sacramentum, and Therion, as well as the other bands I mentioned. Even in high school, sparing listens to such taboo music, whether it was an occasional dose of Venom’s “Black Metal” or Dissection’s “Crimson Towers,” were a guilty pleasure of mine.

I avoided such music not only because it was “evil,” but also because I thought it was depressing. My friend, who suffered from bipolar disorder, denied that there was any correlation between his depression and the aural hellfire he immersed himself in day after day. I wasn’t at all convinced. I was sure that he was in denial, and that he’d be better off health-wise if he stopped listening.

What I didn’t understand at the time was that heavy metal doesn’t so much surrender to or glorify the dark side of existence as acknowledge it, face it, grapple with it, and, in a way, redeem it. Heavy metal is music that isn’t afraid to get its hands dirty. Where classical music embraces suffering and beauty, heavy metal embraces suffering, beauty, and ugliness. One would be hard-pressed to find a more fitting soundtrack for the grim and hideous realities of life, the hellish abomination that is the prison of the real. Heavy metal may be obsessed about the dark side of existence, but rather than driving one to an early death, it grants one the strength to cling onto life, to persist and endure in this world–out of sheer defiance, if nothing else.

Person and Persona

By Jin-yeong Yi

Jin-yeong Yi - Filling-in illusion

[From my notebooks] 

It seems unlikely that others truly know you, especially if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t volunteer information about yourself readily. This is natural, because other people don’t know you as well as you know yourself. How could they? You’re likely the only one who knows all of your secrets, your likes, your dislikes, your desires, your fears, your weaknesses, your strengths, your hopes, your dreams.

Due to the many gaps in their knowledge of you, other people do not see you so much as they see an image of you that they’ve pieced together from fragments that they pick up from interactions with you, or from what they hear about you from other people. All too often, they also attempt to fill in the gaps with their own speculations, which are often not very well thought out.

This may be the main reason why disillusionment with a person (“He wasn’t the person I thought he was”) is possible. A positive image of a person can be instantly shattered by the surfacing of unfavorable facts hitherto unknown.

How many individuals can we claim to truly know? Could it be that we love and hate our images of people, rather than the people themselves?

The Limits of Reality

By Jin-yeong Yi

The Matrix television

“You’ve felt it your entire life, that there’s something wrong with the world. You don’t know what it is, but it’s there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.”

—Morpheus, The Matrix

Less than 2 years ago, Richard Dawkins published a book titled The Magic of Reality. It’s a very nice book, with Dr. Dawkins’s trademark prose complemented by Dave McKean’s richly detailed illustrations. At the end of the first chapter, Dr. Dawkins writes:

“[T]he real world, as understood scientifically, has magic of its own – the kind I call poetic magic: an inspiring beauty which is all the more magical because it is real and because we can understand how it works. Next to the true beauty and magic of the real world, supernatural spells and stage tricks seem cheap and tawdry by comparison. The magic of reality is neither supernatural nor a trick, but – quite simply – wonderful. Wonderful, and real. Wonderful because real.”

I agree, I think reality is wonderful–and I think reality is overrated. Shoot me. To the good professor I would say: have a lucid dream and then tell me it wasn’t wonderful. Tell me that meeting Charles Darwin in person and discussing evolution with him for two days straight was boring compared to reading The Origin of Species. Tell me that flying with invisible wings was a dull and uninspiring experience compared to flying on an airplane. Tell me that traveling to the center of the Sun was a cheap and tawdry experience compared to observing it through a filtered telescope. It’s your world we are talking about, not mine, not theirs, not ours–but yours. And it’s wonderful because it’s yours.

There are plenty of things I appreciate about reality. Reality made my standards, reality gives me contrast. If there were no reality, or at least the knowledge of reality, I’m not sure that it would be possible to appreciate fantasy.

H. L. Mencken had a point when he wrote:

“Alone among the animals, [man] is dowered with the capacity to invent imaginary worlds, and he is always making himself unhappy by trying to move into them. Thus he underrates the world in which he actually lives, and so misses most of the fun that is in it. That world, I am convinced, could be materially improved, but even as it stands it is good enough to keep any reasonable man entertained for a lifetime.”

I wish I could be like him, sometimes…sort of.

But to suggest that reality is superior to anything that we can imagine is practically Leibnizian. Reality is a one-size-fits-all world that wasn’t designed for us on even a collective level, let alone on an individual level. In my view, to be able to have dreams but not be able to realize them is not only a waste, but a perverse travesty. What makes for a richer experience, observing and studying the stars, or reaching out and touching them?

I am not content with the magic of reality. I want magic–real magic. As I’ve said before, I respect science and can appreciate the wonders of the natural world it has and continues to reveal, but I do have a longing for more. For all its beauty, the world seems too fixed, too solid, too predictable, too mechanical. I have a deep-seated longing to find a hole within the omnipresent tapestry of unalterable constants, of scientific theories and mathematical equations, a “glitch in the Matrix,” if you will.

One might ask, “Then why acknowledge reality at all? Why don’t you just ignore it and pretend that it isn’t there?” Easier said than done. As Ayn Rand pointed out, “You can avoid reality, but you cannot avoid the consequences of avoiding reality.”

In his critique of arch-materialist Joseph McCabe in Orthodoxy, G. K. Chesterton proves Rand’s point:

“Mr. McCabe thinks me a slave because I am not allowed to believe in determinism. I think Mr. McCabe a slave because he is not allowed to believe in fairies. But if we examine the two vetoes we shall see that his is really much more of a pure veto than mine. The Christian is quite free to believe that there is a considerable amount of settled order and inevitable development in the universe. But the materialist is not allowed to admit into his spotless machine the slightest speck of spiritualism or miracle. Poor Mr. McCabe is not allowed to retain even the tiniest imp, though it might be hiding in a pimpernel.”

To which a good materialist can only reply, as S. T. Joshi did: “To be sure, it is more ‘restrictive’ to believe that two plus two always equals four rather than that, at various times as my fancy dictates, it equals five or seven or a billion, but what is one to do?”[1] I am not unsympathetic to Chesterton’s wish to believe in fairies and imps and the supernatural in general, but alas, that does not seem to be the universe we live in.

I don’t believe that I hold a grudge against science. If the universe really is as “mathematical and regular” as it looks, science cannot be faulted for that. A person that jumps off the roof of a 100 floor building, convinced that he has wings, will very likely end up as a sorry mess of meat and bone on the ground, regardless of whether or not he acknowledged the law of gravity. Science didn’t invent the law of gravity or any other natural law; it merely discovered and codified them.

Science is all well and good, but when it comes down to it, I’m more concerned about the universe within than the universe without. In other words, the subjective world, as opposed to the objective world. The world where anything and everything is possible, the world where any and every fantasy can be realized.

Joseph McCabe once wrote, “A nation is most gifted with poetic imagery in its adolescence, when the imagination is far more developed than the intellect.”[2] No matter where science and reason take us, may we never lose our capacity to imagine and dream!

[1] God’s Defenders by S. T. Joshi, Chapter 2 (“The Bulldog and the Patrician: G. K. Chesterton and T. S. Eliot”)

[2] “The Truth about the Prophets” by Joseph McCabe

The Shawshank Redemption and the Prison of the Real

By Jin-yeong Yi

Park in France (photo by Georges Noblet)

“[A fundamental mistake of man is] to think that he is alive, when he has merely fallen asleep in life’s waiting room.”

—Idries Shah

“What if you slept, and what if in your sleep you dreamed, and what if in your dream you went to heaven and there you plucked a strange and beautiful flower, and what if you when you awoke you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?”

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Why is The Shawshank Redemption the #1 film on IMDb? People regularly question the wisdom of the multitudes on this count, as can be seen from posts on the movie’s forum.

Having watched it for the third time last weekend, I can say with confidence that The Shawshank Redemption is the film for our age–for all ages, past and present.

Freedom, or at least the idea of freedom, is tremendously important to most people. Did Patrick Henry not say 238 years ago,

“Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, Give me Liberty, or give me Death!”

The thought of freedom is constantly on our minds, and the word is constantly on our lips. In this light, it’s no mystery that The Shawshank Redemption would strike a chord with so many people. We don’t need freedom to survive, but we need freedom to feel that survival is worth the trouble in the first place.

Once during a visit to a Buddhist temple or Shinto shrine (I can’t remember which) in Japan, I was conversing with a fellow exchange student who was an atheist and an individualist anarchist. At one point he asked me, “How do you define freedom?” As an aspiring Orthodox Christian at the time, who was inspired by the lives of the saints, I could only think of one answer: “Freedom is freedom from vice.” My interlocutor conceded that there was some merit to my definition, but he was obviously dissatisfied. We drifted away from this subject shortly after. (Interestingly, we watched The Shawshank Redemption together with some other people during a short sojourn in Kyoto.)

Years later, after having accepted atheism and nihilism, my definition of freedom changed radically. Now I define freedom as having no restrictions on the will, having no barrier between fantasy and reality. In other words, to be free is to be able to do anything one can imagine doing. My definition of prison expanded to the same degree. Now I define prison as a state in which freedom is restricted in any way whatsoever. Prison is not merely political–it is metaphysical. It is the boundaries of time and space, the laws of nature.

In his review of the film, Roger Ebert mentions the theory that life is a prison. Life is not a prison; life is what is being trapped and suffocated in prison, its potential stultified by its walls.

Some might argue that prison is nothing more than a matter of perspective. The unhappy fate of Brooks could be adduced for this view. However, if the message was that prison is completely internal, that prison is in the mind and nowhere else, then the film would not have been about Andy escaping Shawshank, but instead accepting it and finding peace within its walls. Prison is very real, as real as anything–and only part of it comes from within. The question is: is freedom real?

Despite the fact that the chief villain in The Shawshank Redemption is a piously Christian man without an atom of compassion or empathy, I do not view the movie as being antireligious or anti-Christian. I do, however, see it as being heavily naturalistic. There is no God who cares, no liberty, no justice, no miracles. Andy Dufresne is innocent of the crime he is charged with, but Lady Justice is not omniscient and there’s no God to rectify human errors…and “justice” is a human construct to begin with. There is no Lady Justice. There is only Lady Luck, and she’s blind as she is indifferent.

Furthermore, Andy is a man of science rather than a man of faith. His weapons of choice are not scripture and prayer, but the practical tools of logic, mathematics, physics, and geology. He is well-versed in the rules of reality. And it is with this knowledge that he is eventually able to win freedom.

But this film is not about science. It’s about something that is innate in humanity, something that existed long before science did.

Fyodor Dostoevsky once said, “Beauty will save the world.” Beauty is one of the things that keeps Andy going, whether it is the sublime beauty of a Mozart record, the sensuous beauty of a Rita Hayworth poster, the noble beauty of a genuine friendship, or the transcendental beauty of a cherished dream.

One day, Andy fortuitously receives a recording of Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro given as a library donation. Understanding the power that music has to sustain and revitalize the human spirit, Andy risks severe punishment to play the record on the public address system. Why exactly he decides to do this is not completely clear, but my guess is that he wanted to remind everyone in Shawshank State Penitentiary that their tiny world is not the entirety of the universe, that life and its possibilities extend far beyond what their eyes can see.

Mozart’s music flows out of the speakers like cool, pure, crystal-clear water in a hot desert. Red describes the moment thus:

“I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don’t want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I like to think they were singing about something so beautiful it can’t be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you those voices soared, higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away. And for the briefest of moments, every last man at Shawshank felt free.”

Free from worry, free from fear, free from the confines of language, free from the world and its petty rules. All the walls and shackles vanish, leaving only a glorious moment, however transient, in which fantasy and reality unite.

The message of The Shawshank Redemption does not seem to be that only the Andy Dufresnes of the world can find redemption. If it was, the film would be relevant to only a small segment of humankind. Not everyone is blessed with Andy’s ambition and determination, to say nothing of his level of intelligence and education. The key to redemption is, if nothing else, something that just about anyone can find within themself: hope.

Returning from two weeks in solitary confinement, Andy joins his friends in the mess hall, and the following dialogue takes place:

Y-y-you couldn’t play somethin’ good, huh? Hank Williams or somethin’?

They broke the door down before I could take requests.

Was it worth it? Two weeks in the hole?

Easiest time I ever did.

Bullshit. No such thing as easy time in the hole.

That’s right, a week in the hole is like a year.

Damn straight.

I had Mr. Mozart to keep me company.

So they let you tote that record player down there, huh?

[Taps head, chest] It was in here…and in here. That’s the beauty of music; they can’t…get that from you. …Haven’t you ever felt that way about music?

I played a mean harmonica as a younger man. Lost interest in it though. Didn’t make much sense in here.

Here’s where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don’t forget.

Forget?

Forget that…there are…places…in the world that aren’t made out of stone. That there’s a…there’s something…inside…that they can’t get to, that they can’t touch. That’s yours.

What’re you talking about?

Hope.

Hope. …Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. It’s got no use on the inside. You better get used to that idea.

Like Brooks did?

Pace Red, it can be argued that the “inside” is where hope has the most use. Hope is not necessarily false expectation; it can be the feeling that maybe, just maybe, things will turn out better than expected. Hope is not a belief in the inevitability that one’s dreams will come true; hope is a belief in the possibility that one’s dreams will come true. Hope is the inner flame that give one the strength to persist, to endure in the face of all odds. As Andy later tells Red:

[H]ope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies. 

If one wants a basic guide to life in the prison of the real, one need not look any further than The Shawshank Redemption. Its advice is simple and sound: educate yourself and keep your wits about you. Be good to others. Retain your integrity and self-worth. Fill your life with beauty. Persist. Above all, never, ever accept prison as an absolute. Keep hoping and dreaming…until the bitter end.

Beauty and hope are intertwined. Like hope, beauty may, in the last analysis, be nothing but an emotional reaction, but in any case it gives me the feeling that maybe, just maybe, true freedom is not only possible, but that it is also waiting on the other side.

Ring of dark matter (Hubble Space Telescope)

All these landscapes are timeless,
And this is all just a part of cosmos,
But all is mine and past and future is yet to discover…
Much have been discovered, but tomorrow
I will realise I existed before myself.

I will be reborn
Before I die.

I will realise planets ages old,
Created by a ruler with a crown of dragon claws,
Arrived with a stargate…
A king among the wolves in the night…
An observer of the stars.

—Emperor, “Cosmic Keys to My Creations and Times”