in a world that simply exists, an existential world, loneliness would have no meaning, there would be no cold nights and no warm days, there would be no pure acts of nature.
the problem is not if God exists, because knowing that answer would in no way solve the problem of our existence in this present moment. therefore there is just us and the cold night and the warm day. what will our answer to this be, the realisation that there might be nothing and that nothing is also our true nature? will it be a descent into chaos?
perhaps it will simply be a continuation of doubt, expressed in ever more elegant terms, but still essentially the same as it always has been, a feeling that there is a space which is neither hopeful nor hopeless, but this space seems so far out of reach, we can conceive of it but not perceive it, act with it in our hearts.
this grey space contains absolute horror and absolute beauty. is this really what life amounts to, the negation of one absolute with another, as if in a simple equation? is it possible for life to ever be out of balance? what does it mean to live in a system that is, unthinkingly yet naturally, completely in harmony yet for the people within it is for them a system of dysfunction and pain? what pictures might describe this state? it is surely not pictures of dots nor is it pictures of lovely landscapes, nor photographs of terror and suffering, nor paintings that are really only abstractions of themselves.
at some point we must realise that art is an illusion, something to escape rather than embrace.