Sometimes, I don't know what I am doing here. Actually, I feel like that on most occasions. My english teacher, Professor Umbridge, hereby referred to as the Evil One, goes on and on about a strange word: metaphysical. Ever present in our curriculum, that mysterious word always seems wind up being the root of our class discussions. At the end of each of our weekly Socratic Seminars question sheet, of which I have a veritable hatred for, there is always a single, almost passive aggressive command: Say something metaphysically profound.
Well, what on Earth does "metaphyisically profound" even mean? (See what I did there...Earth...Metaphysical...get it...) According to one of the finest websites on the World Wide Web, Wikipedia, metaphysics is a "traditional branch of philosophy concerned with explaining the fundamental nature of being and the world, although the term is not easily defined." How insightful. Not.
Anyways. Moving on. So basically (in comprehensible English), metaphysics is a type of philosophy where people ask themselves questions like "Why am I here (on Earth)?" and "What is my purpose I life? Or "Do I even have a purpose?". So pretty much, if you are a metaphysicist (I don't believe that that is a word...oh well), you sit around all day talking to yourself and then you write an essay or maybe even a book on the scintillating conversations going on between your consciences about what life on Earth means.