We live in reality. We imagine alternate realities. We are torn between them and sometimes to pieces.
Reality of itself is a meaningless grind. We live, we languish and we die in a natural cycle of ordained futility.
I hear the argument that life is meaningful because there is good within the bad. I am told I would not know good without evil or joy without sorrow.
Reality is not our hopes and dreams. It is not our perspective. Reality is what it is whether we like it or not or acknowledge it or not. Our fate is decided by its impersonal physics.
I hear the “scientific” claim that all is coincidence. Reality is happenstance. You can choose your own purpose.
Coincidence is meaningless. Intent decides purpose. A substance is shapeless no matter its shape lest fashioned by a cause and shaped by the effect thereof.
Where did God come from? What part of the Beginning and the End, the first and the last do you not understand? The quality of the quantity of one begot all existence by manifesting quantity. The product can be fractured but not the source. The creation is bound to its creator as a matter of sheer existence. There was and is nothing before or after God.
The cynic and the optimist alike imagine alternate realities. Stark reality is neither nor is it somewhere in between.
Reality is an impersonal and consistent system of action and reaction. Is the obvious not obvious? Reality is a machine!
The truth is not reality but rather the intent of its design. Reality is a means, not a meaning. Like fiction, it serves as a basis for thoughts and feelings in action. Unlike fiction, its narrative is consequential. The death and destruction are real. The life and creation are also real.