What makes us alive

Listen to how your heart beats. Tuk, Tuk, Tuk. Such a muffled, barely perceptible sound. When you are calm, rested and nothing disturbs you at that time. We almost don't feel it. Does the heart tell you something, inform you? No, it beats for itself and that's it. It probably only knows how many more beats it has left before it stops. The exhaustion of the limit. It is a countdown timer, gradually but consistently approaching zero. This scares us, constantly reminds us, commands us not to waste the time allotted to us on this Earth. To feel, experience, create, simply think about the things of the world and its meaning. The heart is an extension of our soul. An indicator of our feelings, showing how much we are alive in essence. Because dead people, as they say, do not have a heart. They are robots, mechanically existing in space-time, obeying the survival instinct. Although, as S. Freud wrote, a person also has an instinct for death, self-destruction. It manifests itself when we no longer see meaning, joy, we no longer feel the wonder when we open our eyes in the morning and realize that another day has come to us on this planet called Earth, another day has dawned as a bonus with the rising sun on the horizon.

Am I real? Or just someone's invented project? Existent in space-time like in the Matrix. Without a chance to escape. As someone who was close to me once said: "it's very sad, you can't even commit suicide, because your soul is doomed to live forever." I don't know why it's sad, why life is not valued when it is still uplifting, and sometimes giving moments of happiness. Or minutes. When there is peace and good in the heart and body. When the world shows its good side, as if giving an undeserved bonus.

And the heart keeps beating. Knock, knock... Although when you fall asleep you never know if you will wake up in the morning. Or if you will wake up in another world, in other dimensions. When you fall asleep, we experience death every night. We only hope or know that another day awaits us, spent interestingly, meaningfully for us or not so much.

And when we cross the Styx River, we will remember everything we have experienced in life. This is our indestructible, inalienable wealth. Experiences, love, anger, happiness and despair, pain, everything will remain with us. It comforts and gives meaning. Let us be alive, human, tolerant, peaceful and self-critical. But those who love or are still looking for love, their soulmate, here by gender. Maybe not many people find it, but the goal is always within us. To find someone who would complement me, who would understand only when I start telling something. Just like I do him. I remember a woman 2000 kilometers away said to me in the evening: "why are you repeating the same thing to me for the third time, I understand, I feel you, I have experienced the same thing, I don't need to explain it ten times." It's like lightning in a dark night, meaning another person can become close despite the vast geographical distance.

How does a person differ from artificial intelligence, a computer? I think, the ability to feel. Artificial intelligence, which is currently very idealized, is just a mathematical algorithm that groups words, objects according to the most probable relationships. But it cannot create anything conceptually new. What we feel as real. Unfalsified, therefore experienced, felt. A person is something much more than a biological being. With his intuition, non-verbal cognition and inaccurate actions. Sometimes illogical. Which later proves to be a brilliant solution. With a sense of artistic inspiration that seems to come from another world. Or parallel Universes. Where different laws govern matter. Where higher dimensions exist that allow us to transcend time, space and mental boundaries. When we see the past and the future at the same time. Points of pain and oblivion of happiness. All this exists together, nothing disappears, is lost, is not erased. Unless you want to, so that hell doesn't torment you after you free yourself from it, apologize to the people you offended and to yourself.

My father kept repeating before his death: “Do you know what I regret the most? That I worked too much. Too much, because no one needs the fruits of my work now. I lived too little, I felt alive.”

Because he didn’t listen to his heart, which counted the seconds left until the end. Inevitable. From which we will never escape. Work is sometimes oblivion from a terrifying end, from a sense of meaninglessness, from despair. From a sometimes cruel God who condemned people to suffering and death. I sometimes think that if I were God, I wouldn’t act like that. And many of us wouldn’t act like that. Wouldn’t torture people, because where is his love and kindness? My child once asked: “Dad, does God play with people?” I didn’t know what to answer then, and I don’t know now. But I would really like to know. And religions don’t give an answer. We are all faced with a terrible unknown, like war. How things like wars have been happening in the world for so many centuries. Where then is wisdom, love and kindness?

Maybe being expelled from Paradise makes us alive? Because otherwise we would just sit under an apple tree or a palm tree and aimlessly push through the days without doing anything, without improving, without accumulating memories and experiences. All eternity like this. Like being locked in a golden cage. Without self and meaning. Without happy minutes, because after all, we can't endure happiness for much longer, We just become numb then. Maybe this is hell, when nothing changes, frozen and meaningless. Like in a computer simulation. In the Matrix. Maybe that's why they threw us to Earth, from which we will not escape. As long as we are alive and our hearts are beating: tuk, tuk, tuk and on and on...