One of life’s biggest puzzles I muse upon is human’s relentless fascination with immaterial constructs. So intangible yet so indelible. So trivial yet so unsettling, keeping people squirming restlessly past midnight on their bedsheets.

These immaterials act as a blanket of comfort, shielding all beams of penetrating sunlight. Like yelling in an echo chamber, thoughts are magnified, self-reinforcing. Nobody wants to know they’re living a lie. So these thoughts feign comfort and promise that they live tales of conquerors and heros.

In fact, 99% of human dna overlap with chimpanzees. That 1% accounts for abstract thoughts. What allows homo sapiens to write poetry, solve algebra and practice spirtuality and religions. Grind the whole world of atoms, quarks and elements into dust and explicitly show me subatoms of evils or gratitude. We are deluded into thinking that these human constructs are anything but biological processes. They are as real as the person’s conscience believing his or her lies.