The Joy of Logos (or something)

The Joy of Logos (or something)

Something exists and that brings me joy.
It doesn’t have to.
For all the supposed knowledges of the world
Are but illusions.
Truth, filtered-
By perceptions.

All I know is that I know nothing, Except that I am;
Somehow,
In some form.

Perhaps I am a brain in a vat,
Or a subroutine of a simulation.
Perhaps the Daemon shows only falsehoods;
A light-show of shadows upon the cave wall.
Lost in mystic Samsara…

We try and try to navigate the world-
To map the patterns…
But inevitably,
All can be reduced to only good guesswork,
And sometimes not;
Always room for reasonable doubt.
Except for the one thing
All encompassing.
Call it source,
Call it form,
Call it energy, potential, patterns, or Logos;
The rules and laws of the cosmos.
The whole thing, whatever that means…
Whatever you choose to call it:
God,
Allah,
Yahweh,
Or Brahman.
The only one thing that can be truly known
Is that something exists
And it doesn’t have to
But it does
And you’re a part of it
And that’s a kind of magic.

Something exists, and that brings me joy.