In a mother's womb were two babies. One asked the other: "Do you believe in life after delivery?" The other replies, "why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later. "Nonsense," says the other. "There is no life after delivery. What would that life be?" "I don't know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths." The other says "This is absurd! Walking is impossible. And eat with our mouths? Ridiculous. The umbilical cord supplies nutrition. Life after delivery is to be excluded. The umbilical cord is too short." "I think there is something and maybe it's different than it is here." the other replies, "No one has ever come back from there. Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery it is nothing but darkness and anxiety and it takes us nowhere." "Well, I don't know," says the other, "but certainly we will see mother and she will take care of us." "Mother??" You believe in mother? Where is she now? "She is all around us. It is in her that we live. Without her there would not be this world." "I don't see her, so it's only logical that she doesn't exist." To which the other replied, "sometimes when you're in silence you can hear her, you can perceive her." I believe there is a reality after delivery and we are here to prepare ourselves for that reality....
Hopelessness ~ Why Deeper Meaning Is Good
If we're destroying hope, our primary goal is to limit potential. An infinite potential for the verse means that, eventually, things could be adequate, good, better, or even better than that--that any form of suffering might have a purpose. If someone believes in more, they can always have hope, because another chance means you might win. Even if the chance is one in a billion, another chance eventually means you'll get it. Ergo if we wish to crush hope, the finite and the terminable are our allies. The most successful person, and the most miserable person, both know that finity means the same thing: an end to everything. An end to self, an end to everything else; an end to happiness, pleasure, joy, and love; and, an end to even the slightest chance that things might get better or that someone who has known only misery might get to try something different, someday.
Any sign found here of deeper meaning indicates hope. The threads of limited potential, like telling a child, "You'll only ever be this good at [task]," are crushing to the adult, and to the species. If it's all gone in 80 years (or a few billion), who cares? Clear beginnings, "maximum" timetables, and inevitable endings are the hallmarks of necessary misery, from the Bible to more modern takes. As long as everything is random billiard balls, then it doesn't matter.
The arrogance of sensory perception is an easy arrogance. Like the above tale of infants in the womb, it is simultaneously obvious, yet ridiculous, to conclude that everything we can sense is everything that is. Concluding the latter will always require discounting unverifiable promises from outside sources; we will never have proof that other consciousness exists, because we can never "know" that other people are actually self-aware in the way that we know we ourselves are. To presume that others have the same consciousness that you do is a leap of unproven faith, and to act based upon that belief is to be a religious zealot.
So, from that, here we are. If you've already presumed, without solid proof, that others are as conscious as you are, you may be ready for Verse Structuring. You've sensed something that transcends you ability to prove, and you believe in it, and base your entire life on it, because you know it--you know that there are others; you know that you are not alone here.
Continued in Part 7.