I’m one to ponder as deeply as the mind will allow. During moments of passing time, the questioning of existence and reality come into play. I usually tend to cling to the thoughts idealism give me. Idealism is a philosophical theory that suggests the ultimate existence of reality is held within the mind. I think I cling to this thought because of how much I want the possibility to exist. If there were the smallest of possibilities that I am just a conscious being that projects my reality exclusively within my mind, than what I perceive of reality wouldn’t really be reality at all. Everything we know will mean nothing. Our quest for certainty will become even more lost in the expanding infinity of uncertainty. Maybe then, maybe with the slightest crack of a doorway that would shine a mere glimpse of possibility, I would be able to dwell further into the belief that my physical form is only a mental projection from another dimension. Feelings, senses, and thought would be at the tip of the iceberg for human potential, if human is what we even are… But then as I sit and ponder on my porcelain throne the biological waste expels from my body and splashes into the pool of toilet water that was once peaceful only moments before. It is at this moment that I realize that, perhaps, I am more of a physical being than I’d like to be. What use would an infinite mind capable of creating realities within realities have for such useless acts such as wiping poop from your exterior? So now in this moment of shame, I realize that my existence and the existence of my surroundings are material. Shit always seems to tell me that a material existence is more absolute than an ideal one. Because in an ideal world, poop wouldn't exist.