I do believe that I am quite tired of talking about metaphysics. After a while it all blends into a din of doubt and confusion on the proper reason for the existence of things and I find my eyes rolling at the entire conversation of it because really, what does it matter? I am not saying that it is unimportant to try and understand the fulcrums of our being, but one can only take the reductionary method so far before he begins to question why it was necessary to begin the ordeal at all. I recognize that it would be foolish to simply believe that what you already know is a sufficient understanding of our world—for that would note complacency and a narrow-minded approach. But taking a Decartesian method of trying to understand the metaphysical world fills one with so much doubt and discomfort that the long contemplations are not worth the addled ideas and sore, furrowed brows. We exist and there is a God of whom we were created by. That is really all I care to know, regardless of the fear of “dreaming” or illusions or imaginations. In either world, the dream or the reality, these truths are apparent.
