Pondering the intellectual question: `Why do I exist?' leads to a search for:
An Explanation for Consternation
Observing the literal and artistic creativity of others though prolific, it possibly represents less then one-percent of the collective creativity of humanity. The balance goes unnoticed – un-experienced – un-rewarded.
My motivation for writing, creating though often lacking specific reason – has become my buoy – a form of mental life raft.
My periodic isolation from others allows an introspective search for answers to questions that well up from within producing a cornucopia of expression represented by more questions then answers regarding my emotional and mental health.
I want, after I pass from this existence, for others to look at my writing not as an expression of a sad life but a life full of promise unfulfilled. In addition, to ask: Why did this existence go unheeded? Not unlike the countless thousand others whose creative voices trying to be heard.
Alternatively, and more likely to occur, is to have my body of work simply dumped into large plastic garbage bags to be put out with the rest of the trash; to be churned up with remnants of faceless others whose lives go unheeded.
What this discourse exposes is an individual’s need to have their societal and creative contributions be recognized, and acknowledged beyond the compulsory epitaph on grave stone marker. The last ditch attempt for the majority of existence to define itself to the future. When was the last time anyone visited a cemetery?
Exploration of this line of thinking leads to a potential answer to `why do we exist? It is my humble opinion that it is simply to procreate.
The most basic of human function: Life exists solely to create new [human] life – to perpetuate human life. If you are not creating life then truly, you have no reason to exist– redundant.
Does this address my burning need to produce something tangible? Is it the root source of my weakness and mental consternation?
My circumstance in being a Gay-person is that I will likely never produce another life, therefore intellectually, I see myself as sociologically redundant .
Therefore, does it deduce that my compulsions to be creative stem from this inherent need/want to be recognized as a contributing human being?
Is the search for an answer to the question NOW resolved? That is: Is the feeling that my life has no meaning due to my circumstance of not being able to proliferate my being into a world whose expectation, and need is to do just that? And, would the natural order of life warrant that this existence that I am, shrivel up and die in order that the life energy that it is can be reconstituted with the hopes that a future, more productive, entity would emerge?
If this rational is adopted it creates a simple choice: to die, or to find a way to produce a life-giving energy commensurate with that given.
The search that now ensues is that of finding the answer to this newly created dilemma.
