No One Cares About You, Me, or Anything!
One is not the centre of the universe, even though as young children some may believe so. Eventually, life has a hard message for most of us: no one really cares about us. Regardless of the efforts of some families and a few friends who will take particular interest in different parts of your life as it suits circumstances. They do not care about you nearly as much as you need to care about yourself. This random generic reality, one possible universe of many, does not care about you, me, or anything. Finally, you see you must be responsible for yourself and those other life forms that make you what you are. Understanding this is essential to surviving, especially when you are broken open by testing times. The story of my life. I have stopped caring, otherwise the hurts that will not heal would eat me. I tried and got rejected big time.
After another failure, one of many, I realized no one gave a damn, unless they had a part in the downfall. No one important knew my mistakes. Those people who held vicious memories, or carried a grudge would pass out of time. Even a malicious mother and her hateful proxies who attacked me because of their need to protect a damaged image: that parents protect. Well, no, they murder and maim children too. I have forgiven myself for any hurt I may have inflected, what a pity they can or never forgive me. So, one is free. Free to work, succeed, fall flat on one’s face, crash and burn, then learn, and repeat. One could be reawakened, one could save oneself, one could make new choices. I am not going to be someone I am not. It is never about end results; it is the struggle that one learns about one’s strengths and limits. Makes one sick to think about it: this infernal struggle.
Nevertheless, for a long time, I wondered if no one cared, did I matter? I could not understand or work out why I was never satisfied, regardless of the awards, the accolades, or occasional magazine article. When things hit the wall because of events I had no control over; I realized that my true success must be self-defined. Allowing others to set my motives and thinking I was happy was giving away my power. That includes being grateful for the attentions, often intrusive, of others. What makes me content is my challenge. Framed awards are not a measure of my worth. Why go on? Why one keeps trying does not require an answer for other’s sake. One is an observer, that is it, just moving forward.
In the end, no one cares about you, me, or anything! I have written a poem about how I feel. A link to my YouTube where I read it aloud:
There will never be anything better than there is now: https://youtu.be/cFlum3IyGUo
There will never be anything better than there is now.
An artisan, gardener, lifelong student, loner, walker, atheist, animal nurse,
Hater, violated, angry, mad, housekeeper, politically adverse, neurodiverse,
I suspect anything different than my own diversity,
Anger caused by other’s judgments of my perversity.
I have heard what the opinionated have proclaimed,
Their talk of the problem and who is to be blamed.
But I do not chatter as I have no belief in solutions,
There was never any hope or faith in resolutions,
Or was never ever old wisdom or youthful innovations.
There will never be anything better than there is now.
Not in this random generic reality called a universe that is so mediocre,
The longing of the world to be so much better is played as a joker.
This cosmos froths and bubbles, different universes immerge,
Always unlike in identity, very diverse, their laws odd to us surge,
To elaborate is no avail, people only fight on this bit of earth,
So sure, as the most certain can be, but it is futile, it is mirth.
I and this mystery here we exist and something unknown clings,
Knowing the perfect aptness and desperation of most things.
While they pontify I am silent, and go find a task to do.
Welcome is every distraction and remaking a time anew.
There will never be anything better than there is now.
Finding something that values our living under a dark sky,
Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born, as it is to die?
Death is easy with the dying and birth is easy with the new,
And wonder and create objects according to known rules,
Einstein and other mathematician-scientists have made fools,
Of esoteric religious mumbo-jumbo and other ridiculous mules.
Stubborn belief that we, earth and the stars have profound spiritual soul,
I am not a believer; the rules of light and gravity have the greater role.
There will never be anything better than there is now.
God, gods, goddesses, and the like all seem only one percent efficient,
Every kind for itself and its own, up to a point, there is nothing omniscient,
Those that have been found the conditions useful necessary and sufficient,
Set by many mathematically consistent sets of laws to be self-sufficient.
Be tenacious, enquiring, tireless, useful, and dig ground to make your mound,
I am old now, and was never so young, hurt by stupidity, driven underground.
Regardless of others, always regarding others, I am a cosmic junk shot,
A child well treated may grow reasonably, but sometimes ends as only a blot.
There will never be anything better than there is now.
One of the notion of many notions, this universe it is stupidly constructed,
It has got too many arbitrary coupling constants, a nothingness restructured,
Superfluous groups of elementary particles, and why design in dark energy?
A real horrible contrivance: it is not an elegant universe—it has no synergy.
Not the best of all possible worlds in an ethical sense, we suffer awfully,
The Holocaust, slavery, AIDS, but then discrimination is disguised lawfully.
So, between nothingness and a fruitful reality is our random generic reality,
A learner with the simplest, a novice beginning often noted for its venality.
There will never be anything better than there is now.
A mixture of chaos and order, sailing through space-time with the rest,
Different realities, frothing out there is no further explanation for it,
Theory of Inflation, which expects an infinite, disordered, pointless fit.
Like a big frothing sparkling wine exploding out of a bottle eternally,
A vast creation, lots of waste with little closed areas of sense internally,
This inflationary scenario may mean I am not stuck up, and am in my place,
Some reason is stable in its place and the unreasonable is spinning in its space.
So, there are bitter parts and better parts and I try to make my mind calmer.
The general mediocrity of reality vibrates with the mediocrity I see as drama,
Now, I measure my self-worth by my own standards because I know:
There will never be anything better than there is now!