The world as we see it is not, in fact, as we see it at all. What is, isn't; what isn't, is. As inspired by Sartre. So then, what is? Slightly confusing, I know. But imagine, nothing is what it is. What a way to think about the world. The book you left sitting behind you right now may not be there. The cotton candy you were eating wasn't cotton candy at all. Maybe the author of this blog never actually wrote this entry. Maybe you aren't really reading this. Maybe this is all a dream. Nay, I hear you cry, but it does exist! And that - that exact conviction - is what belief is.
To believe. An action which carries so many hopes, wishes, dreams, realities or delusions. Never has a word so unabashedly defied logic. How can we simply believe? Without thinking of the repercussions? Without realizing that, maybe, there really is no truth? That maybe something we believe in may the next day turn out to be as fake as Osama bin Laden's love of pottery? (I know I shouldn't make assumptions about the man's tastes and preferences, but I'd like to think this is a safe bet.)
So, why do we believe? Which stupid chromosome made it possible for mankind to start believing in things? There is no answer. We believe that tomorrow, the sun will rise. We believe that no, our friends will never betray us. We believe that cows will keep providing the whole human race with milk and ice cream for years to come. (Really, how can we be sure?) And we believe that in the end, there will be a happy ending for us. Wouldn't you call this delusion? To think that the word is full of people like this.
I smile at the thought.