The Philosopher's Kaleidoscope

My sun-weathered skin felt tight on my face as I squinted beneath my Stetson's worn leather brim. I brush away dust from the etched stone's surface, the debris settling into the scarred grooves. I smile to myself, admiring the beauty of the forgotten relic. Sometimes the most precious objects are taken for granted by a contemporary society, but their cultural significance is timeless. How rare it is to find engraved marble in an architectural context that is not associated with a tomb; plastic may persist long beyond its reasonable utility, but it is in an object's ability to withstand the tests of time that radiates true beauty. I glance down at the water bottle in my left hand, thrust upon me against my will by a zealous peddler; a refillable metal cantina would have sufficed. Staring at it, I mumble to myself, "Plastic is essentially immortal in form, but it is the essence of that void that persists." I continue the musing in my mind; again and again, I return to the question of existence. Mind, body, soul, and I remember Descartes whispering in the back of my mind. I gaze up into the sky and see a premature star, shining in the evening twilight. It seemed to twinkle just a little brighter for a moment, the first of its kind to emerge in the long coming night. I resign myself to find shelter, pouring over the ancient scrolls and crumbling leaves of books crafted from materials that gave out long before timeless ideas. I hum to myself a familiar waltz of slumbering beauty, dreaming of the love who loved me before I was aware of myself. Not a god or a being of supernatural capabilities, but a soul that touched mine and found me through the strange energies and codes written in our very atoms. How fascinating it is when life imitates art, and a universe telescopes into another universe. It forever seems like all realities and existences are tripping over themselves. What can we do as animals but try to make sense of that which seems random and senseless? It is only natural that superstition and fear persist, when the only thing one can sense is intangible. A sensation, an intuition, a desire, an impulse. What drives life beyond energy and matter? How does a seed remain dormant before it reaches for life with a majestic chemical reaction of water and soil giving place to root in a delicately eroding shell?