Why don't you have a purpose?

So today, I got my first Quora A2A :D.

While it was for an unexpected question, I sure did want to answer it.
Here's the answer on the original question: http://qr.ae/vrIoa

Here's a transcript.
Q: God made me, gave me my family, gave me life that I may enjoy all things, but why didn't he give me a purpose?
A: Let's imagine this from the viewpoint of God.

He creates the world. He creates the flora and fauna. They are sentient, but it's not really exciting. He knows that this bird is going to eat that worm, that bird is going to be eaten by this animal, that animal is going to die, and then the worms are going to eat him again. He does this for ages and ages. But he's bored. He stirs up his creative juices, and creates dinosaurs. This is gonna be interesting, he thinks. And for a while, he is entertained. Those humungous beasts, with razor sharp claws and scythes for teeth, all of them fighting for survival. The special effects are amazing. But like all games with graphics and no game-play, it is only interesting for a while. He's bored again. Though the dance of the dinosaurs is so much cooler, they're essentially doing the same thing as before. They just eat, sleep, and reproduce.

In a fit of brilliance, he injects some of his consciousness and intelligence and creates man. He makes them puny as compared to the dinosaurs, but he makes them social animals. He gives the handful men that exist a purpose, and then watches them. And likes it at first. The new ones are interesting. They walk on only two legs, and their use of the hands is so much fun! They make tools. They make weapons. They discover fire, and how to make it on their own. God is surprised at the speed of their machinations. They invent a way to properly express ideas amongst each other without ambiguity! They have invented a language! God wonders whether these new players aren't too strong. They know their purpose, and are advancing in the game too fast! To balance it out, he yanks out their purpose-programming, leaving a void where it used to stay.

Man feels this sudden void inside of him when he awakens the next day. Man is stumped at feeling so incomplete, where once he knew what needed to be done, and could advance down a definite path, he now has to think for himself about his future. He does not have that stern, unbending voice inside him guiding him to God's purpose. Instead, Man is confused. God loves this. It's a twist in the tale. It's something new. He now waits with bated breath to see what Man will do.

Man, meanwhile, turns inwards. The intelligent ones understand what is missing. They study their thoughts. They study life. They know that they don't have a divine purpose anymore. They tell the rest of the Men that you are now free to do what you want to do. Your chains have been cut off, and you can be the creators of magic. But Men didn't understand. They are used to knowing what exactly to do, and are left in disarray. Some of them, see an opportunity. They rise up to the mantle of the leaders, and give the rest a purpose. They create nations. They wage wars. They promote philosophy and science. They create goals, and sell them to the rest of the Men. And Men become slaves again. For the rest of the story, read history.

God meanwhile, has invented popcorn. He sits and watches from his pedestal about the variety which he has brought about by this one change. He congratulates himself. And he relaxes after this long hard day to reap the harvest of his efforts. His popcorn has just the right amount of salt, and his humans are just hungry enough that he doesn't need to make changes. And he lives happily ever after.

P.S. Because you don't have an ingrained purpose, you have the power to choose! You can become an artist, a scientist, a gamer, a humanitarian. All avenues lie open at your feet. Can you imagine how dull life would be if you knew what you had to do in life? You'd just be grinding away all day, everyday at the same thing. You can do whatever you want. Whatever pleases you. You are god's final creation, and have the freedom to become something which you will like and respect.
 
But please, make it interesting. Don't let God get bored.

The Aghoris

http://qr.ae/nWOQ4

Upon reading this answer, someone asked me: Your heroes?
My answer: No. But I understand their quest. I understand the lusting for knowing the unknown that they do. I know the clarity of mind which is brought about. The absolute brilliance with which your mind rises above the mediocre and revels with the gods. Where it rises above time and space into the infinite, and you see yourself for the nothingness that you truly are. You see your decisions having no effect; you see the futility of conciousness. You see that nature's greatest gift to man is also their greatest curse.

People? Bah! Animals are better in most respects than those who profess to be better than them. Do you see what humans do? They destroy their mother. They kill each other. They kill other creatures (human arrogance). Why? So that they can feel like they have achieved something. And for what? Nought will come out of it all. The ultimate answer to the perennial human void is to become one with nature. Because from dust have we risen, and to dust shall we return.

But we don't get that. And so we wander on, closing ourselves off to our true nature, to our true selves. The selfish pursuit of our narrow goals will lead to the ultimate downfall of humanity. To our death as a species. Do you get it?

The tale of the manager

This is the tale of a manager,
Most perfect as can be found.
Her name spread around far and wide,
as the one who did not grind.

And employees came,
but they never left,
for her charisma,
Kept them all bound.

She made a world,
where you were all friends,
and office was a breeze;
all bonded together as one whole group,
and achieved your goals with ease.

There were no secrets in her team,
No silences to be found.
They laughed together,
and worked together,
to get significant results.

And employees came,
but they never left,
for her presence,
Kept them all bound.

Even if they came with a pot full of luck,
and an empty pot of skill;
she guided and prodded them on and on,
till by knowledge they were filled.

She told them their little mistakes,
and they in turn told her hers.
And the hobbits that joined her team,
Were now stalwarts in their field.

And employees came,
but they never left,
for her management,
Kept them all in bound.

Her results were exceptional,
She enabled them to succeed.
And her trust in all of them;
was just that which they need.

Her voice was clear,
as were her thoughts;
there was never any doubt.
And even if there were changes,
it was quietly done without flout.

And employees came,
but they never left,
for her trust,
Kept them all bound.

Freedom they were all given,
to excel and create.
Even wacky ideas still,
got a hearing till their fate.

After office, she let you free,
for she did know to let go.
After 6 after all,
you are under your home manager’s rule.

And employees came,
but they never left,
for her freedom,
Kept them all bound.

The crow's call

There came a sound of loud proportions,
A carrion cry of the uncounted legions;
Which sitting atop his high throne,
The dealmaker could not make undone.

He sat burdened by these thoughts of his,
Alive now in a reality shrouded by mist;
And peering out his window did he see,
A solitary crow perched upon a tree.

And the crow cawed in hoarse abandon,
Of the deeds to be done, under that sun.

The battlefield lay empty and bare,
Of all life there was none to care.
For corpses lay littered where lillies had been,
And scavengers roamed where once there was green.

Hyenas and vultures did share in the loot;
Their appetite did it splendid suit.
And amongst these was a single speck,
Of the darkest black, a raven sat.

And the crow cried in hoarse abandon,
Of deeds that were done, under that sun.

It started a spark,
Grew into a blaze.
The perpertuators gaze,
Smiled at the brown haze.

Untold lives were destroyed that day;
Such upon which human eyes never lay.
For their greed did blind to all but the sheen,
Of gold, solely worthy they deemed.

Barren land was all that was left,
Under the war machines handled so deft.
And the black spectre was present that day,
Mourning the loss of its home; its lay.

And the crow cawed in hoarse abandon,
For deeds that were done, under that sun.

The mother's answer came at last,
Her final cry was felt as a blast.
All in her quiver were called to bear,
The judgement for all from her ire.

Enough had she suffered the vagaries of creations,
The uncaring destruction by her children.
This was her last answer,
The cure to her own cancer.

The seas rose at her beckoning,
Slowly they crawled, ever consuming;
The ground shattered, swallowing,
For the clean slate she was making.

Up in the air, the realm of the tempests,
One as never seen before tested;
Gobbling up all it finds,
All-pervasive it shall grind.

Till the time when mother quiets,
And looks at the aftermath of her riots;
For guilt at seeing all being barren,
For they were bad, but were her children.

And no crow would caw in hoarse abandon,
For the deeds that were done, under that sun.

This is romantic!

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary for her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. And that is why I fell for her. Because even if I burn out, she will take care of me. I know that is incredibly selfish, but she makes up for all of it by just being there.

Starchasing

In pursuit of stars,

I run and I run;

Away from plush bars,

To get my knots undone.

The city thrums around me;

The garish blare of electric lights,

And I long to break free,

To the soft beams of simple starlight.

Oh woe be unto me,

For here 'tis nowhere to be found.

I must away now flee,

From all this noisy city sound.

I take course away from man,

The silent road forgotten by my kind.

And so without a plan,

I seek whatever I shall find.

The milestones fall away,

A blur of yellow and white;

I look for where to stay,

In the dark of the night.

A deserted hill beckons,

And I tread on it's feet.

An untrailed hill I walk on;

For there's a multitude I must meet.

A monochrome canvas lies ahead;
Bare weeds welcome me.
I chart a path unafraid,
To the top of the hill steep.

Reaching the peak I turn up,
And O! What do I see?
The heavens do open up;
And I'm taken in by glee.

Far from the shining brights,
I seem to have come to my destination.
A new world within my sights,
I let the present slip into hibernation.

What can be a more soothing sight,
Than this dance of twinkles and white.
Finally my mind has no fight;
Within the solace of gentle starlight.

The crickets chime a steady rhythm;
The hum of the earth fills me.
Peace at last, extolled in a hymn,
For my soul has returned to me.

The Wanderers

This is for those who never stop and stay,
Those whom life never lets astray.
For they do not have a set path,
And for whom there is no hold steadfast.

They might be awalkin' amongst you guys,
Haunted souls who never seem unalive.
Either bristling with uncontained energy,
Or roving the depths, they will be!

Those who seem to have no home,
Roaming about like a vagabond.
Shooed wherever they might go,
By the others or their own heart's flow.

They're restless like a hungry fly,
And will be till the day they die.
For nothing will ever close the gap,
Their hearts posses, wide and agape.

They'll be a part of your life, Oh sure!
But constrain them and they'll make you sore.
For free spirits as them you'll never see,
Rebellious much, wild and free.

A speck is all that's left of them,
Once they're out and filled with phlegm.
And never will you see them again,
For they have places to be and things to attend.

Of course, what these be, they have no clue;
Fate springs it upon, out of the blue.
Making sure there's not a single day,
That they are a part of mediocrity's play.

They yearn for a land unextant,
Where they can live unmendicant.
A place where they might be at peace,
From the others' selfish greed.

These people they walk alone,
Sauntering, humming a song.
For who can hope to keep company,
To a soul which doesn't know it's symphony.

They're the stragglers that you see lying around,
When you're too busy running on with your frown;
Those for whom you laugh and say,
They're hopeless! They'll never be sane!

What can they do, when their flute;
Plays a haunting melody of disrepute.
Do they simply be a part,
Of your unquestioning farce?

You ask too much to wish for that,
They cannot be actors playing a part.
For one they know to be true,
The song will never lead them askew.

It might be a marching ballad,
That will make your limbs glad;
Or a funeral hymn,
Making your existence grim.

Whatever the song, and whatever the circumstance,
However they're treated by happenstance.
But one thing that will hold still,
Is in the end, the song, their whim.

These people, they might not amount to much,
Roaming around without direction or lust;
They might not lead forward man's way,
Or make millions in one swell lay.

They might not be known by all,
They might not be around when you fall.
They might not do what you say,
They will never shy away.

But to you, I do salute,
For in a world shamelessly lewd.
You are the only one left,
True to their hearts' heft.

You know who you are,
O lost ones!
Silent specters,
With sharp spectacles.

Know that you have a friend in me,
Someone to count on in need.
For if you are truly a wanderer,
You have in me a fellow traveler.