What am I? Who am I? Why am I?…

Are these questions meaningless pursuits of an emergent illusion, or the doorway to the purpose of life? The fact that I can even wonder is itself absurd. How can I not know who “I” is? How can I seek to “know myself”?

Ultimately, I am nothing; I came from it and will end up in it. I am an insignificant fluctuation; somehow always here and now but also drifting in space and time. At the same time, it’s hard to deny that the universe happens through me. I create it as much as it creates me. It’s all so strange.

How can I be both creator and created? Am I nothing, everything or something in between? Maybe the question of Being (with a capital B) is too much to ask, or its terms too ill-defined, but the absurdity of not knowing who I am is too important to ignore. 

How do we define a point? Because I’ve never seen one, have you? It’s certainly not that drop of ink you put on a paper with a point-ed pen. If you look closer, it’s huge! A swarm of bacteria might be throwing a party on it. In fact, if you can see it, then it’s not a point.

A point is an abstraction. It doesn’t exist in reality; and yet, it’s a surprisingly simple concept to imagine. In fact, you need to infinitely zoom in to see a point; and to do that in time, it will literally take you forever. How can we speak of points and infinities without ever being able to point them out? It must be something so fundamental in how our mind works that we do it so effortlessly.