The world spins and we try and find ourselves. Or should I say I try and find myself... It is presumptuous to assume that all other people consciously desire discovering themselves. There is something very isolating in living in a world filled with similar shaped beings. Humanity is intriguing because we each perceive the entire universe differently from one another. It is hard to imagine our neighbor having lofty dreams, despair, and forlorn memories of days long passed. It is hard to imagine what different feelings/emotions mean to different people. Who am I to define feelings of love or frustration for the rest of the world?
The truth is... I wish so much to understand Purpose. There are a myriad of perspectives one might take in developing a strong sense of meaning, to life. For years I have chased Love. But now I'm beginning to think that Love is a distraction from life. I see it more as a mode of acceptance instead of a vehicle for enlightenment. It is like a drug. Your perception of the world is twisted when you're on the drug. Your problems are gone, you're easily satisfied, and you find more enjoyment in simple things. But when the drug is gone you crave more, constantly needing a fix.
Is it better to accept a life of Love, and settle for what life has given you? Or is it better to walk alone through blizzards and sandstorms seeking the unreachable brilliance of Understanding? Is it better to stare up at the stars from the firm ground or to scale the tallest mountain on the off chance you might pluck a star from the heavens?
Hell if I know.