If life were inherently meaningful, boredom would not, could not exist — both ontologically and phenomenologically. Boredom reveals being as a whole. In all the world’s complexity, its infinite capacity, each moment being unrepeatable (never again this time, this day, this year; never again this life, this self, this “I”), somehow still a sense of complete ennui can inundate us: the desire to merely sleep it all away, to jump ahead to the peaceful nothingness which awaits, instead of the multifaceted flickering of the now, the screen of life before us. How? If not for an emptiness fundamental to every life. Drifting here and there in the abysses of our existence.
No comments:
Post a Comment