Life

Life is strange.  I'm just a collection of cells.  Why should a collection of cells have any sense of life or being?  Why is it important for me to be aware that I'm alive and that I one day must die?  Why not just live on instinct, with an innate sense of what I must do or not do to survive?  Why have all these emotions?  Why feel such intense pleasure and pain, sorrow and longing, hope and fear?  What good do all these feelings accomplish?  Fear may keep me alive, but it may also cripple me.  Pain is a warning, but also a torment.  And why would I ever deserve pleasure of any kind?  What is it's purpose?  Is it just a reward for good behavior?  Then why do I sometimes feel it even when I'm not on my best behavior, and then afterwards feel guilty?  What good does that accomplish?

I'm just a collection of cells, that somehow lives and breaths and walks about and talks and writes things such as this.  Why should I ever be anything more than just a creature, like any other creature, surviving on instinct and intuition, and one day dying alone to little account.  But somehow, I'm more.  What makes me more?  What makes man more?  I have something more.  What should I do with it?  What can I do?

I have this knowledge, this conscience, these feelings.  What am I supposed to do with them now?  Is there something greater than me?  Call it God or science or nature or humanity or whatever you want, there's something more at work here.  Why else should I feel the things I do, things that don't seem to be directly linked to my survival.  Why is there more to me than simply surviving?  Why is there more to any of us?  What are we doing with it?  What will I do with it, with this strange and truly unfathomable life I've been given?  What will you do?