September 5, 2007
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When will the ultimate reality of things break into our hearts? When will we realize what song will be playing as the world ends?
For how long will I tell people just what they expect to hear? When will I act in accordance with the fact that I know I don’t belong here? How many times will I submerse my head into this misty pool of myths? Will I stay underwater one of these times?
One thing I know: we are all naked before the way things are. What defense have we against the greatness of everything surrounding us?
When will our hearts wake up from the drowsiness of living slowly and vaguely? Do we not know that even the old ask what the good life is? Time does not reveal the answer.
Is life mad with no answer? Do human lives just give out, like bubbles rising to the surface of boiling water?
When will I walk away from my thoughts to live? When will I stop digging into the mountain of the mental realm? Is there a bottom? A place where things stop? Will I know unless I keep digging? Can I convince myself to stop wondering about it if I leave?
Are we real? Can we be real? Thoughts pass by in my head, unrecorded. Do they fall into nothing, or a place that means something?
Is all I am an interesting detail in the universe? Because when parts and parcels of the universe come together, it forms things that not only move around, but know they move around.
How can I be an interesting detail? Interesting to whom?
Is the universe only here to we conscious few? When all the conscious things die, does the universe continue on? For even if it continues, no one knows it continues. It just will. How can that be? Musn’t someone know about it?
There will be no one seeing it, no one hearing it. Yet it will be a sight, and it will have sounds.
I climb into my mind. Where will you take me?
Do we live in a universe where matter sporadically turns off and on?
We see words other people have written down. We see their moods gleam from their smiles. They go here and there. They are a swirl of existence. Their minds flash, and they feel sometimes light, sometimes heavy; they are always someplace new. Their presence is curious and amazing.
The world may seem light or it may seem dark.
When will I finish a day and know I have lived? When will I start a day and know I am about to live?
At night the stars and the truth come out, but people go to sleep. When they wake up, both are gone, and they live happily on with their lives, thinking that the world is what is real, because it is what is here every day, and it is very close. One must stay up to see outside the world, and thus their minds, to see there is much more than just their small daily thoughts.
A man may carry a heart of sorrow, and no one will know.
Words mean nothing; they are just shapes, or sounds.
We read and hear things we think are profound; and then we forget them.
