In the Light of My Insignificance

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I reason at the brink of narcissism. This happened as a result of that, which only happened because they hated me, which goes back to the trauma from this—

Some might call it manifestation. If I think negative things, negative things will happen. Others call it karma—I deserve every inconvenient thing that comes my way. I suppose I believe that too; that's why I often ask myself, "What did I do to deserve this?" 

Where is the logic in thinking that a Domino's delivery driver backed into my brand-new motorcycle because I did something that upset the universe? Or that the person I loved most only fucked other people because my anxiety dared him to? It's honestly pathetic to think myself relevant—that the stars could feel offended on an elitist's behalf. To worship my guilt and make my suffering proof that the universe has a conscience—is that not a mirage? 

It's not spiritual to align yourself with the cosmos. It's selfish to think that your mindset—your behavior—matters to the macrocosm. I've come to the realization that narcissism lies where spirituality lies. The very concept of an afterlife is a product of self-centeredness. Who are we that we deserve a life after this? If there is a god, who are we to know them, let alone have a "relationship" with them? In this, I've answered my own question. What did I do to deserve this? Nothing. For I am insignificant. The universe is far too potent to penalize me, and I am far too small to know the universe. 

Contrary to my upbringing, I don't live to appease gods. I believe that principle itself is a construct and purpose is something you assign, not something you discover. I find peace in that—knowing that I too am trivial beyond my name. Nothing is cosmically assigned, so why torture myself? Some might call it pessimistic. But how can something pessimistic inspire my clarity? Others call it simple-minded, yet somehow, I feel most enlightened standing in the light of my insignificance. 

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