Consciousness is a curse.
This is my equivalent to the grim claim of “God is dead” by Friedrich Nietzsche. Albeit bound to be much easier to understand, and much less misconstrued than Nietzsche’s famous claim, I think that statement deserves an appropriate follow-up.
I don’t say that lightly, for I understand that all that I currently think and write, all that I perceive all depends on my being conscious. For without consciousness, I wouldn’t be writing this, and neither would you be reading this. The world we see, the societies we are accustomed to and entangled with so intricately–all of this would cease to be.
What for then, do I feel confident in making such a bold claim?
For a burden is all I feel with my consciousness. Imagine, if you will for a moment, a sheep grazing in the wilderness, not a thought in sight, not an internal conflict to resolve, not a moral dilemma to face.
Every passing day, I am faced with questions I do not wish to answer, but I find myself increasingly unable to turn my face away from them, either. Questions about me, my beliefs, my purpose, and now they no longer stop at me, but extend to the world.
I see flaws in myself, flaws that I feel unable to correct, yet too conscious to ignore. Blessed is the man who can live life, and never second-guess himself. Blessed is the man who is confident in his Self to a fault, for he isn’t burdened with the crushing weight of his own failures—not in life, but as a human being.
In fieri.