The Pinball Machine

It’s a little disconcerting thinking about having control – or lack thereof. Do I have control issues? Yes, I think so. There have been very few times in the course of my score on this Earth that I’ve3 lost control – and only once that I’ve completely lost all sense of control. But I tell myself that I was young and had just realized that young people can die too – I gave my first eulogy at the somewhat tender age of 13 at a friend’s funeral (she was only 12). Would that be considered being slammed into one of those things that go “ding!”? ‘Cause it sure felt like it. Realizing my own mortality at an age where everyone else thinks they’re indestructible – it never seemed fair. Of course, I know I’m not the only one this happens too, but still, ne? 

Anyway, major tangent, ne? Yeah, that happens a lot. 

So – control. Maybe it’s just an illusion – whether God (or a god, goddess, being, reality, or insert other word here) really exists or not. Isn’t ‘control’ a concept created by humans? Aren’t all – or most – things a concept created by humans? Or maybe no concepts are human creations, ne? See, there’s that funny thing called control again. 

For that matter, how can anyone really believe in anything? How can anyone when neither philosophy nor modern science can prove human existence? And yet, here we are with billions of our fellow man – with more coming and leaving every second! And that’s another semi-creepy-crazy thing! To think that people are being born and dying as I sit here writing this – it’s a wee bit… well, I don’t thing I can think of a word for how it feels to think about it. 

But no matter what lies beyond the final breath I draw, I hope it’s something. I can’t believe that we’re just a fluke – that we were never meant to be. That out existence was a cosmic condom break. I don’t think I can accept that we’re all just a bunch of accidents. Wouldn’t that mean that everything is an accident? That the silly human concept that we’ve created and called science and taught in schools over the many years that we’ve been illegally squatting here on this random rock just proved itself false? (Eto, talk about an oxy-moron, ne?) 

I don’t really care if that’s the actuality – if someone came up to me with 100% proof that that’s what happened and we’re all just some messed-up, bastardized space silt, I would smile and nod and tell them that I still believe in something – something bigger than me and you and everyone and everything. You can call it whatever scientific name you want; I’ll stick with simply ‘God.” 

I have this running joke with the sister closest to me in age (we’re 15 years apart, she and I), and it goes a little something along the lines of I’m just an illusion in her head and every single second of my day is whatever she makes up in her head. And she’s not really living the life she thinks she is – she’s actually in a padded cell somewhere. (Ok, so, it’s not really a joke, but she’s the one who started it; I was just cruel enough to keep it going.) There’s this little voice in the back of my head every time I think about it that questions how true that really is. What if I really am just her imagination and she’s my god – my creator? What if I’m not real? What if none of us are real, and we’re all just in someone imagination? It doesn’t have to be my sister’s, because, at least in my head, that opens up a whole new paradox. Anyway, what if God’s just someone’s imagination? Or something…. Sometimes, when I’m getting really into the scenario, I have to remind myself that I’m here and not just in her head. And then she laughs at me because I’m freaking myself out. So maybe it is kind of a joke, I dunno…. 

But anyway, if we are bastard children of a cosmic explosion, who’s launching the ball? Who’s playing the pinball machine? It’s not me. It’s not you. Therefore, I will decide to call the player Bob. I don’t know why Bob, but the name makes me smile. Don’t ask me why. It just does.