No one gets a grip on living. The uncanny fact of existence is elusive. This is, no doubt, due to the transitory nature of mankind.
How well can existence register in a mere eighty years?
Are there any mortals that can pluck the flower of being?
Such questions may never be answered.
Even if one were to take into account the emerging trend of transhumanism.
Such an extension of faculties would merely yield an excess of yeses and no’s.
One’s and zero’s, life and death, light and shadow – the inescapable binary of mortality.
Suppose one extends this one material life we know. Suppose one extends it to eternity, whatever that is.
Can an eternal biological calculator fathom the mystery of being? Why there is an is, its relation to is not and the peculiar arrangement thereof?
Perhaps, but this perhaps is tenuous.
This past century mankind has exponentially increased its capacities. Yet such an increase has yielded more of the same. The same miasmic binary that limited Plato limits the 21st-century technocrat.
What are we to do in such a dispiriting situation?
Perhaps the answer is nothing.
All this wild blossoming is indicative of one thing.
The best thing to do with the flower of being is to water it.
For how can a flower pluck itself?
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