Tuesday, 9 December 2014

Life's uncharted puzzles and the curiosity of déjà vu.


On Friday 5th December, I had a pivotal discussion about fate and the universe. And in this oddly philosophical five minutes, I slotted together a series of turbulent thoughts that have kept me awake with questions 
for a while now and I like to think that I've found a complacent medium, or at least a medium of mind that I am fairly at ease with.

The whole notion of fate is an odd thing. "If it's meant to be, it will be". The truth is, that when it comes to this exhausted phrase, I'm not all too sure what to think. I both love and hate it. I love this statement for the idea that people have a subconscious belief in the unknown, in the future and in fate. I love it because it shows that we are, as a collective, not completely drowning in our own cynicism. But I hate it because it reflects how complacent we are. How we expect life to be a simple path of somebody else's efforts in order for us to live in decadence and revel in the complacency of never striving for more.

Not only is it an odd thing, the notion of fate is a complicated concept to get your head around. The idea that your consciousness, your thoughts and each visibly irrelevant action actively contribute towards a pre-planned timeline is inexplicably too large a notion to cram inside of a singular thought. Is every single word that I type upon this blank document in front of me a pre-formulated contribution to a greater plan?


Maybe we aren't born with the bricks laid down for us. Maybe we do have to do all of the hard work ourselves. Or maybe it’s a collective of both. If you work hard, if you lay down enough bricks yourself, you'll be rewarded with a few bricks here and there by an unknown force to us. But the overriding thing is, we'll never know. We might be making up this crazy existence in our own heads. Proof that anything exists but our own consciousness is not in existence.

It is such a vast and endless possibility that can never be proven nor disproved. There are seven billion people on this planet right now. That's a hell of a lot of people. And so, I, in my full state of consciousness and awareness, can feel the hidden logistics of life slipping through my fingers as I too often wander around in this dazed state of philosophic conundrums and empty questions. And so I ask myself what exactly constitutes as the notion of fate?


What is fate?

'Fate'

feɪt/

(noun):


1. Something that unavoidably befalls a person

2. The universal principle or ultimate agency by which the order of things is presumably prescribed; the decreed cause of events; time:

Fate decreed that they would never meet again.

3. That which is inevitably predetermined; destiny:

Death is our ineluctable fate.

4. A prophetic declaration of what must be:

The oracle pronounced their fate.



Broached heavily upon in all forms of philosophy, media and general discussion, is the question as to whether the common idea of fate - that every minute action is pre-planned - is actually inevitable? Is the future unquestionably 'something that unavoidably befalls a person?'. Who is it whom prescribed this so called 'order'? Without this knowledge, why do so many consider fate inevitable? Or is it prophetic, open to interpretation? 
Am I the author of my own story, or is the author a force empowered by miracles and without words?

The truth is, fate is the unknown. And with the unknown, arrive a lot of questions. Thus it seems in our best interests to formulate our own ideas on what fate legitimately constitutes as. And who is to tell us that our self crafted philosophies are faulty?

So, in our crazed mindsets of consciousness we, as living and breathing beings, are able collate a vague theory to our existence and to our fate.


Henceforth I'll refer to a pastime of dot-to-dot. You know the way. In a childlike sentiment of ambiguous courage and quivering hesitation, you brace the colloquial array of numbers sprinkled in an odd fashion across the page. Following this sequence of numbers, you strike the paper and join the dots, and, both attempting to work out what on earth will be the resultant image, and feeling the settlement of apprehension, you join the last two dots and glance down to discover your minuscule masterpiece. Well, I like to think of fate in the same way.


In my own undeveloped mind I have come to the self-formulated theory that we have thousands of points in our life cemented into the future. I believe that not everything we do has a hidden meaning, as the general term of fate suggests. Rather, I believe that we have pre-fated points in our lives that some way or another, we will reach. If through the shaky freehand lines in a dot to dot colouring book or a trashed AA map, I have a feeling that we will all somehow find our way to each of these pre-planned points because, unbeknown to the best of us, life often has a few surprises hidden up its sleeve.

In my self-developed theory, those dots, starting at at number one with life and ending at an undiscovered number of death, represent these destined points in our lives. As always in a dot-to-dot exercise, the basic groundwork has been laid out for us, with small points of guidance situated along the way. Well, what if existence lies in the same pattern?

These dots could be people, situations, emotions, traumas. It could be a best friend or a bout of depression, a car crash or disease. The way we reach each point is determined by the sequence of bricks that we lay down ourselves - through opportunities and people, experiences and emotions.

But then again, do these fated points of existence have to be so significant? Or in fact, are they mundane situations that we brush off with ease throughout our day to day lives?

What if the harrowing reality of fate lies within the hands of déjà vu? What if these points are so mundane and ordinary, that we brush them off as a trick of the mind? What if our moments of déjà vu are our pre-planned moments in time? Snippets of a conversation, the angle of a person’s face and the trees overhanging a path in the woods - the moments in which you feel overwhelmed by a feeling of repetition – quite simply, cannot be disproved as something over than a trick of the brain. Who is there to say that this is an act of trickery on the mind when not a person can prove anything but their own consciousness in the first place?


Thus what if every time we experience this chilling sense of recurrence, we are subconsciously joining yet another dot in our lifetime game of dot-to-dot. The plausibility of it both thrills and frightens me.

It's a theory. An idea. I am no philosopher, let me tell you that. But how often do we consider our true means? Why is it that so often, we sweep the mundane extraordinary into a hidden cavern in the depths of our existence?

Perhaps I am wrong, or perhaps fate is an ancient concept formed as to comfort those of us when we feel out of our depth, or perhaps fate is everything the movies say it is. Or perhaps this is something that I am fated to write. 



 A dot on a canvas already engraved with the past and open to the future. 

What is your stance on the curiosity of déjà vu and on the notion of fate as one of life's uncharted puzzles?





 

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