It’s a little bit depressing. The pain that it caused between the darkness of the night and the brightness of the blue lamp was too big, too grueling, and maybe too true.
Clouds pass by as my face hangs on the window sill. A glimpse of blue is visible for what must have been the fraction of a second. They keep moving so incredibly fast and I keep staring at the sky. I watch it as it changes, while I stay the same. A clock is ticking and reminds me of my perception of reality. That I am not a lifeless object watching the clouds from behind a window, but that time has been passing. The big, white mass of condensed vapor floating in the atmosphere was not moving at lightning speed. I had just been watching it for hours.
In 1927 Heisenberg, a German physicist and one of the key pioneers of quantum physics discovered what he calls the uncertainty principle. Heisenberg proved, that if a particles` location is determined, its energy inevitably changes.
Observation changes reality.
This is where my metaphysical mental breakdown kicked in. Because if the state of an object is really this fragile, what does the concept of reality even mean?
The contemporary German writer Ferdinand von Schirach writes about what reality means in his book: “The Warmth of Reason” he claims that: “We only live as short as the blink of an eye, then we sink in again, and in this short time, we cannot do the simplest thing: understand reality. But what we can create is truth. “ Schirach distinguishes reality from truth. Reality, to him, is abstract. It is a value that we are ultimately trying to pin down but can never fully understand. Truth though, is subjective. One can create their own truth. This interpretation hence implies that if everybody can create their own truth, there is no such thing as “universal truth”. What does that do to media, stories and our common concept of reality. It turns into a million particles of nothingness.
I did not believe in truth for the entirety of my whole life. I never cared too much about facts or a common perception of our world. I had accepted “reality” in a way that allowed me to function in our world. But deep inside of me I always had this lingering feeling of living under a synoptic hazy blanket. Reality was not mandatory, but only necessary for our societies to function. Maybe what we call reality, corresponds to our definition of dreams. While dreaming our brain plays false scenarios to us. And why should our consciousness not only be another synaptic thunderstorm.
In the end none of these things played a role. It didn’t matter if i was in a blow-up pool, with blow-up feelings or not. Because there were tears clinging between fibres that threatening to spill. There was a cloudy mix that were threatening to you and the melting memories. And maybe that was the only truth that mattered.
