My Random Being

The randomness of my being seems to me to be the root of reality.

I am a natural development of natural developments.  As is every organic being.

I am finite.

My very existence is an inevitable and unavoidable approach to nothingness.

I know no more of whether I will be when I die than I do of whether I was before I was born.

Frankly, I doubt that I “will be”.

For I doubt that I “ever was” before I “came to be”.

I only know that I am a finite being who is vulnerable to all manners of means sufficient to end my mortal existence.

I can speculate as to life after being, so as to distract myself from reality.

Yet speculation changes reality not one whit.

The randomness of my being seems to me to be the root of reality.

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