Deliriums of a dreamer - Steemjet Writing Contest #1

Life is like a dream, in my opinion, not beginning or ending. Sometimes I wonder, what is the meaning of all of this? We are born, we grow, we reproduce and we die ... since the beginning of time. We live competing against each other, constantly. Surviving. Fighting for a piece of land, water and food. Forgetting that we are insignificant in the vast universe, a particle of dust. Traveling in a small marble, on an eternal journey without any destination.

What the Egyptians thought, the Phoenicians, the Hebrews. In ancient China. Did they have the same problems as us? Illusions, disappointments, fears, thoughts about mortality ?. The air I breathe is the same that they breathed? I guess so. The water of a river will return to the sea and to the sky, someday and again to the land. A perfect self-sufficient ecosystem. Altered by our presence. Are we extra-terrestrials on this planet? We are the only species capable of extinguishing others?

And I ask to myself: are we part of the same molecules of our ancestors? Supposedly nothing is lost, everything is transformed. Perhaps their remains were converted into fertilizer, which fed a plant, which was eaten by an animal; that was finally eaten by another human being, who begot me. Becoming part of the molecules of the first ancestor.

I'm sure we are more than flesh and blood. That there is something more than the simple existence of an organism that consumes natural resources. The simple fact of being aware of our own existence and that we can do whatever we want, regardless of our most basic instincts, is what differentiates us from other animal species.

We are capable of doing so many things, constructive and destructive. We dominate the land, the sea and the sky. There is nothing that does not solve our own imagination. Because everything started with a thought to become real. Were we thought of by someone else?

But there is something more subtle that we invent: Music and art. I can not imagine a life without music, without art. Something that gives color to our lives, hope and enjoyment. We must be something more than flesh and bone. Each time I become more convinced of it.

In the end we go back to the dust. Our bodies turn into particles, the same ones that make up the universe, the same ones that once exploded from a star. Are we Star dust?

And our spark is lost in the oblivion of the needles of time. Who can remember what an Inca thought? The first caveman astonished by fire?

Then, I wake up and I remember that I have to get up and go to work. Begin the bustle of a new day. Climb a bus, full of people, distracted by their own dilemmas, protagonists of their own stories.

I see that blue sky, painted with clouds and rays of light and I would like to be free. Free from the need to eat, sleep and all the basic needs that keep us tied to this world. It is not a cry for suicide. It's just, I wonder: Is there something else?

Then I respond with another question: what do I like about this world? What do I like to do? There is nothing more pleasant than doing what we like? and I answer again: be rewarded for doing what we like.

Things are clearer now. Maybe life is just a dream of someone else ...

If you want to participate in this contest, go to:

https://steemit.com/steemjetcontest/@olanrewaju/steemjet-writing-contest-1

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