The Spiritual Existentialist

I like to call myself a spiritual existentialist. And I often have trouble coming up with words to express what that means to me. So here is an attempt at explaining my current interpretation of human experience.

Before adding this new piece to my identity—the spiritual existentialist—I had been contemplating the ideas behind existentialism and nihilism.

I understand why these ways of thinking are still here, for they are timelessly relevant. Perhaps such ideas are more logical than most.

So I’ll start by saying that, to an extent, I might agree. Because this universe and dimension is so vast and absurd, we, human beings, are probably not that special. Our existence here on earth was likely an accident. A cosmic coincidence. An occurrence that was incredibly uncertain.

And thus, the universe may not care about us in the slightest, because it is so far beyond the constrictions of human emotion. It is the void, the everpresent home, the stage upon which all things live and die.

This perceived irrelevance of ours is not something that scares me. In fact, I find it quite comforting. Because in the grandest scheme of things, it seems that nothing we do matters to the infinite stretch of everything out there.

What a perfect reminder of our fragile smallness, and of the fact that we need not take it all so seriously.

Despite all of this, somewhere within me, beneath my logical and rational ways of thinking, there lives a dreamer. A witch. A highly intuitive, imaginative being, meditating amongst the dust that time has left behind.

I find myself asking: “How could I possibly reduce every strange occurrence down to coincidence? Who am I to claim that everything is as it seems? Why would I ever choose to dismiss the sensationally quiet magic of the universe, on the grounds that proof of it has not yet been discovered?”

Questions like these lead to many more questions, and I spiral into all kinds of contemplation. Often I arrive somewhere between the mirage of perception and the certainty of what I had for breakfast.

Deconstruct your own mind and you will find a healthy combination of wonder and pure absurdity.

Sometimes I let myself believe that time is cyclical, repeating into eternity without the slightest of changes. Sometimes I wonder what I am up to in parallel dimensions, made distinct solely by our choices playing out in all possible ways. Sometimes I feel as though our souls are reflections of the universe itself, floating through bodies and experimenting with experience.

And sometimes, if I focus really hard, my eyes can see three dimensional things as two dimensional. As if what ever I am looking at is drawn upon an invisible wall. Other times, my vision blurs and I see my surroundings moving and swaying—a ripple effect that illuminates the illusion of it all.

The thing is, I still care a whole lot about life, people, history, love, and impact. I allow myself space for the freedom that I feel in accepting our human irrelevance, while still uplifting the essentialness of accountability.

Because even though life may be virtually meaningless in the eyes of the universe, it still matters. Human beings hold immense power in giving life meaning. And it is up to the individual to seek out that personal truth.

There is complexity and confusion and profound purpose within our collective existence. We are interconnected beings sharing a planetary home, alongside many others. And all that we do affects everything else within our small corner of the universe.

So, here I arrive at a paradox of sorts. There is logic, science, linearity, and physicality, and there is also synchronicity, intuition, clairvoyance, and inexplicable connection.

I acknowledge and remain open to all of it.