The emptiness that is my life is all that directs me. Resting in the meaninglessness of life I press on. Who am I? Who I was, who I dreamed that I could be - meaningless in light of who I am. The wind blows and I, like chafe, am scattered and thrown. In my naivety I make choices daring to dream that they have value - that too is illusion. My choices are made in blindness, ignorance, and futility. We, society, are a mass of vain, blind, animals wandering this way, blown that way. Is there a divine providence guiding the scattering winds? Can one tell from the apparent randomness of our lives - to some, comfort, to others pain - to all a measure of suffering.
Here I am in this journey of life. I live, I act - a hollow shell existing towards non-existence. Birth to death. Is death to be feared? To be embraced? Does death offer any more meaning than life? Any less?