The Meaning of Existence

Hey everyone, lately, I’ve been diving deep into some philosophical rabbit holes, triggered by a random late-night journaling session. You know those moments when you’re staring at the ceiling, and suddenly everything clicks—or at least, it feels like it does? That’s where this post comes from. I’ve been pondering the big question: What’s the point of it all? And I’ve landed on this idea that the meaning of existence might just be to experience it fully, warts and all. To uncover the roots of our pain, learn to heal from it, and ultimately transform it into something beautiful. Let me unpack this for you, drawing from my own thoughts and a bit of inspiration from ancient myths, modern psychology, and just plain human experience.

The Simplicity at the Core: Just Being Here

First off, let’s strip it down. What if the whole purpose of life isn’t some grand cosmic quest for enlightenment or achievement, but simply to experience it? I mean, think about it—we’re thrown into this world without a manual, and from day one, we’re bombarded with sensations, emotions, and interactions. As babies, we cry, laugh, explore with wide-eyed wonder. But as we grow, society piles on expectations: succeed, accumulate, conform. What if we dialed that back and remembered that existence itself is the game?

I’ve felt this acutely during my travels. A couple of years ago I went on a vacation to Florida and there were days when I did absolutely nothing productive—just sat on a beach, watching the waves crash and feeling the sun on my skin. No goals, no checklists. In those moments, I realized that experiencing life raw and unfiltered is profoundly meaningful. It’s not about doing; it’s about being. And in that being, we start to notice the undercurrents—the pains and joys that shape us.

The Invasion of Light: When Ignorance Shatters

Now, here’s where it gets poetic, and honestly, a bit dark. Imagine existence starting in a state of blissful ignorance, like a soothing darkness where nothing hurts because nothing is known. Then BAM—light floods in, revealing everything. I can’t help but think of the biblical story: “Let there be light.” But what if that wasn’t just creation? What if it was an invasion, a forceful awakening that burned away our innocence?

In my mind, this “light” is knowledge, awareness, consciousness itself. Before it, we’re like children in the womb—protected, unaware. But once that light hits, we see the world for what it is: beautiful, yes, but also riddled with suffering. Wars, heartbreak, inequality, personal failures—they all come into sharp focus. Our ignorance was bliss, but it’s gone forever. That loss of innocence? It’s the first real pain, the original wound.

I remember my own “invasion of light” moment vividly. As a kid, I grew up in a bubble of suburban comfort, thinking the world was fair and kind. Then, in high school, I volunteered at a homeless shelter and saw the raw edges of human struggle. It shattered me. Suddenly, I couldn’t unsee the inequities, the pain people carried. It hurt, but it also defined me—gave shape to my empathy, my drive to understand why suffering exists. That light kills innocence, but it also reveals the nature of things, forcing us to confront and define our reality.

Uncovering the Sources of Pain and Suffering

So, if existence is about experience, a big chunk of that is digging into pain’s origins. Why do we suffer? Is it inherent to life, or something we can trace back? From what I’ve read and reflected on, pain often stems from separation—from ourselves, from others, from the universe. That initial “light” separates us from the void, creating duality: good vs. evil, pleasure vs. pain, self vs. other.

Psychologically, thinkers like Freud talked about the unconscious drives that fuel our neuroses, while Buddhists point to attachment and desire as the root of suffering. Personally, I’ve found that much of my pain comes from unmet expectations or unresolved traumas. Like, that time a close friendship ended abruptly—it wasn’t just the loss; it was the echo of earlier abandonments from childhood. We have to explore these sources, not to wallow, but to understand.

Our task, then, is to become explorers of our own lives. Journaling has been my go-to tool for this. I sit down, trace back a current hurt—say, anxiety about work—and follow the thread. Often, it leads to something deeper, like fear of failure instilled by perfectionist parents. By discovering these sources, we start the healing process. It’s not easy; it’s messy and sometimes excruciating. But it’s necessary if we want to move beyond mere survival.

Healing, Forgiving, and the Alchemy of Transmutation

Once we’ve identified the pain, the real work begins: learning to heal and forgive. Healing isn’t about erasing the scars; it’s about integrating them into who we are. Forgiveness? That’s the tough one—forgiving others, sure, but also forgiving ourselves for the innocence we lost, for the mistakes we’ve made in the glare of that light.

I’ve drawn a lot from practices like mindfulness and therapy here. Meditation helps me sit with the pain, observe it without judgment, and let it disperse. It’s like distributing the weight so no single part of me carries it all. And forgiveness? It’s an act of transmutation—turning lead into gold, pain into pleasure. Not in a Pollyanna way, but through conscious effort. For instance, after a bad breakup, I channeled that heartbreak into writing music. What started as raw anguish became songs that brought joy to me and others. That’s the alchemy: dispersing the pain, redistributing it into creative energy, empathy, or even humor.

Over time, this process chips away at suffering. We learn to see pain not as an enemy, but as a teacher. It sharpens our appreciation for pleasure—the warmth of a hug, the taste of good food, the thrill of a sunset. By transmuting it, we create space for more light, the good kind that illuminates rather than burns.

Toward an Endless Moment of Pure Ecstasy

Ultimately, if we keep at this—experiencing, exploring, healing—what’s left? I believe it’s a state where pain becomes a distant memory, and existence unfolds as one endless moment of pure ecstasy. Not the fleeting highs of drugs or achievements, but a sustained, profound bliss. It’s like returning to that pre-light darkness, but enlightened—aware, yet at peace.

Philosophers like Nietzsche talked about eternal recurrence, embracing life so fully you’d live it again and again. Or in Eastern traditions, enlightenment as the dissolution of suffering. For me, it’s glimpsed in flow states: when I’m hiking in the mountains, lost in the rhythm of my steps, everything else fades. Pain? What pain? It’s just ecstasy in motion.

Of course, we’re not there yet—as individuals or as a species. But that’s the beauty: the journey is the point. By committing to this path, we inch closer to that ecstatic existence. And who knows? Maybe in transmuting our personal pains, we contribute to a collective healing, making the world a little less invaded by harsh light and a little more illuminated by shared joy.

Wrapping It Up: Your Invitation to Experience

Whew, that was a lot—I didn’t expect to go this deep when I started writing! But if this resonates, I encourage you: Take a moment today to just experience. Notice the pains, big or small, and start tracing their sources. Heal what you can, forgive what needs it, and watch as life starts to shift toward something ecstatic.

What do you think? Have you had your own “let there be light” moments? Drop a comment below—I’d love to hear your stories and keep the conversation going. Until next time, keep exploring.

Cheers,
S