“Ceci n’est pas une pipe”. This is not a pipe. Magritte’s quote glares at me from my pen as the miniature pipe in it gently floats downward. He was right. In this moment, it is much more and much less than a pipe.

I’m wandering off in Precalculus but that’s alright. My thoughts drift to the fundraiser last night, hosted by the Holmdel’s Christian student group. They were raising money in support of the Philippines and during the event they had a prayer for the Filipinos.

I’m not religious, but the prayer had me musing. The leader of the group admitted the operation was small, but that it ultimately still mattered and helped. The truth, in my eyes, is that we are under no obligations. We are born in a finite world where everything is one day forgotten. Thus, it may help, but does it matter? Does anything matter? No, if we wanted to we could revel in the ultimate lightness of being, but we refuse to do that.

We refuse our liberty because we are not gods, to live only in the realm of abstract thought where nothing has a tangible weight. We are humans, shackled to the earth both by our natural weight and the mental weight that we create for ourselves. Those who attempt to throw off the weight of significance are left with a vast sense of emptiness, for there lies no purpose in the creation of the cosmos. On man-made buildings, in the woods, in the desert- there is a purpose because therein lies our existential weight- the weight of to eat or be eaten.

All these thoughts flashed through last night and now, in math class. I did not say them aloud- who was I to shake their faith? Who was I to give them the liberty that no one wants? No, we are happier to be in shackles because it is far easier to deal with the problems of reality than the problems of the abstract.

And thus, we come full circle. The miniature pipe, in this instant, is much less than a pipe. Its miniscule size makes it the epitome of lightness, the epitome of insignificance. Yet, it is like us as well. It is bound by the weight of its own existence. It isn’t sentient, so it cannot be tortured of having to deal with these conundrums. Nevertheless, everything must fall, everything must have some impact. At least, that is what I tell myself as the pipe hits the bottom of the pen. The problem is, I don’t feel it.