Humanity is a species with many questions without answers. Is it even possible that we have everything we know that we need, everything we want, and even learn what we don't know that we need? Is it possible that we can rise above the framework of the human being, are we a sort of seed, growing, building, an organic machine? Were we planted on earth, only for us to be moved by the forces of nature, being ignored by all knowing Gods, upon this single planet but not throughout the galaxy? Is everything we believe a random collection of superstitions? Are we bound to crash and burn, as children of leisure, seekers of pleasure and desire? Are we deficit in cognition?
Filled with fears and ambitions, are humans alive by accident? If so does sin actually exist? Are we life forms created by chance? If so do we owe any God contrition? This world is mysterious, our existence a great dance. We've only one life to find out whether the purpose of life is some spurious happenstance, as if we've been planted only as one transplants a seed or grafts one plant to another. Are we thus born children without a mother? Shall we endeavor, or seek to sleep forever? Do we even matter, painted upon the great canvas of the creator's brush.
“Monsters exist, but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and to act without asking questions.”
