Is it true that our lives are not our own?
That’s a tough question.
It’s especially tough that all this quickly jumps off into philosophy and religion.
How can it not?
If our lives ARE indeed ours – I have trouble taking issue with hedonism and megalomania.
But if our lives ARE NOT our own – I have trouble avoiding theism.
I, for one, choose meaning and purpose and love over emptiness.
It’s called hope.
Something pummels us, something barely sheathed. Power broods and lights. We’re played on like a pipe; our breath is not our own.
-Annie Dillard, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek