I feel like I am surrounded on all sides by thick stone. The world makes no sense and my attempts to interact and understand is like trying to skip stones across fog. There is a game being played and I have no hand.
There is something I must do, however. There is a light in the very distance but I have no oars. There is burning desire to succeed, to be complete but no canvas to paint.
Am I only to exist? Is my meaning to survive another day?
Comfort is prison yet spontaneity eludes me, terrifies me. I feel I have lived a life time already, felt enough pain for two and my continued existence is a joke to amuse idle minds.
My mind seems boundless but frustratingly without form. There is no construct in this reality I can adapt to.
Yet I must continually perform, force myself to live by conventions I do not understand nor see logic within.
The accumulation of things, wealth, by people who do not seem to understand their life is as transient as winds governs our everyday, our very society. To exist in this world, we must worship the self or another self in some form. The scope of our vision is hopelessly limited when we could be so much more.