a collection of stories
This is one of those statements like "what is reality?"
Meaning gives us purpose and purpose might give us a function and that might be all we need. I was talking to a bunch of people yesterday about who we think we are, about what's real and what's not and, as it turns out, not much at all is real.
The idea that after we die there's nothing left apart from the body made me think about the 'person' we are. Not the body, the animal we are or the body we inhabit, however you want to put it but just looking at separating out those bits - we have a body and the rest is a kind of fiction.
Take that(!) ego! (oh, hang on, the ego doesn't exist)
I love this because when I start to feel important I remind myself that I am nothing more than a collection of stories, a fiction based upon memories and meaning - things that don't actually exist - the person I am is a co-creation, like an artwork within a body, a sometimes bloody annoying and indecipherable artwork but something that will eventually just fizzle out in a moment - all of that stress and strife will eventually just disappear from this world.
I like talking about reality and these days I'm especially enjoying reducing what's important to a fine jus and seeing that the meat of life is basically unimportant - it's a work in progress but worth sharing, I thought.
So, in conclusion:
Reality is completely subjective although it can be shared.
We are a fiction/nothing about us is solid.
We have a body
There's little that needs to worry us but plenty that does. Why?
Because we attach meaning to things and think they are real and important, when nothing actually really matters, really. So if you're feeling there's a void, there is no void but if you want to make a void exist, that's your concern, and I'd advise against it.
Discuss
Have a lovely day. :-)