I feel scared thinking of myself afloat on a lily-pad in a giant endless ocean, under a flat sky.
There is no home. Float, float, float.
There is nobody else. Adrift.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Even my personal history keeps detaching from me, time slips away through my machinations.
Who am I? What is this? Does love mean anything?
I don’t think love means anything. It is not of the left brain. It is not a symbol indicating some other from of gratification (like money). It is not downstream of something, it is itself. It is self-created, its own justification. It bows to nothing else, it doesn’t even have to make sense for it to work. Its symbolic meaning pales in contrast to its true experience. When love comes, it melts much of you away. What remains does not understand in terms of symbols any more. Abstraction has been blasted away by an overwhelming feeling that leaves little to free will. ‘Making sense’ is what stops making sense then. The table is completely flipped.
I feel like a man suspended between heart and mind, trying to make them friends.