The emptiness that is my life is all that directs me. Resting in the meaningless of life I press on. Who I am, who I was, who I dreamt that I could be - meaningless in light of who I am. The wind blows as it wills and I, like chafe, am scattered and thrown. In my naivete I make choices, daring to dream that they have value - that too is illusion. My choices are made in 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 by the apparent randomness of our lives - so some comfort, to others pain - to all suffering in varying degrees.
Here I am in this journey, my life. i live, I act - a hollow shell inching towards my death. Is that to be feared? To be embraced? Or to be ignored? Does death offer any more meaning than life? Any less?
No comments:
Post a Comment