No Such Thing

After much deliberation (mostly during dull lectures as a way to prevent me falling asleep and drooling on the person next to me) I have come to a conclusion. There is no such thing.

There's no such thing as light; no such thing as darkness; no such thing as colour; no such thing as sky; no such thing as earth; no such thing as age; no such thing as youth; no such thing as joy; no such thing as melancholy; no such thing as love; no such thing as hate; no such thing as you; no such thing as me. But if there's no such thing as 'me', who is it that is writing this? Perhaps there is no 'me' and that I am simply a figment of my own imagination; a figment created by some consciousness somewhere with no form of it's own. A figment which is both existent and inextistent. And if there's no such thing as 'you', then who's reading this?

I suppose the point I am trying to make here is not that neither you or I exist (because that would be as possible as being able to eat yourself) but that our existence is entirely contingent - just as everything is contingent. We do not need to exist, yet we do. We do not need to feel or to care, yet we do. Why do we care? There is no moral imperative to do so nor is there anything to be gained. Do we care simply because we'd like to think that others would care about us if we cared about them? Are we so fickle that we so desperately need the attention of others just to reaffirm that we are not a figment of our own imaginations?

And so what if we are? Does it make the experience any less real just because we are not? Reality is an objective thing. Even if everybody in the world saw one event, not a single other person would have the exact same experience as you. And if there can be no consistency, then what does it mean to be 'real'?

But then again, I couldn't care less if I'm real or not. Nor do I care whether all the people I know or all the things I've experienced are real or not. As long as I'm enjoyig myself, I'm happy for the universe to be a dream.