I sit here calmly, absorbing Schubert and stepping back from my thoughts in order to examine them.
The world has always been a dangerous place. So many people have this sense of security which they take for granted. Then there are those whom have faced unspeakable pain and terror, so the danger becomes interwoven into their being. The world has not become scary, no, it is the person who has become aware of danger and knows fear from personal experience.
Experiences which make a person question their place in the world, experiences which would make the most stoic among us shed a tear, these things happen to real people and it can really change a person’s perspective.
So how does one navigate this sea of life? It’s like having a broken compass on a cloudy night.
I keep studying. I read, write, and draw. I unfold new ways of being and seeing all the time. Yet, I always come right back here.
Existential meanderings, loss of meaning, loss of self, melancholy. To what end? What is so important about this way of being, that I must revisit it times without number? If I were to shift my consciousness into any point in time, it would almost always land me in this state of being.
Psychologically, there must be a reason for the pattern. I break myself down into nothing, put the pieces back together in a different way, only to repeat the process. I don’t even feel like a human being–just a machine with a seemingly unlimited number of configurations to try out.