I was cleaning my room on Saturday night. I grabbed an old binder that I used to keep all my poetry in and an old red notebook fell out onto the floor. I started reading it. It had a bunch of old journal writings in it - ones that I don't remember writing. I have no idea how old they are because I hadn't put the date on any of them. Reading them was, for some reason, awakening. It seems that I used to have all the answers to the questions I'm asking now, I've just forgotten them.
I found myself agreeing to all the thoughts I have. I believe all things that have been born never die. I believe in rebirth, but not reincarnation. I'm not sure how to crack the mystery of why I feel there is a God who is sad and lonely. Or are we just the echoes of a narcissistic God who forgot about us to go hang with his/her girlfriends? Though, if a God exists, they obviously see beauty in the melancholy and you can tell by looking at the progression of things. I feel that's the only thing we have in common, I see it too. Like a hallucination.
Little kids have the answers to the world, and as time goes on and they grow up, they lose it, because the world gets to them. The world is lacking childlike optimism. I'm realizing that, and it's the most frustrating thing to accept. I wish I could go back.
So what I mean to say is that I had the answers a few years ago, but I only figured out what the questions were recently, and it's not a big slap in the face like I always thought it would be. The puzzle is just putting itself together.
For, in a word, everything that we choose we choose for the sake of something else -- except happiness, which is an end.
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