there's only so many minutes in the day and I find myself struggling to fill them equally with business, projects, tasks, and breaths. in fact, the breaths come only in the last seconds before i fall into sleep, and i think to myself, "this is no way to be living," mimicking the false appearance of peace while drowning. it's true-this semester i am in too deep.
the strange part about existing in the way that i do, with books on my back, words in my mind, questions always weaving around my entire being, is that a crisis teeters right alongside the thrill of not-knowing. the task of uncovering, or rather, establishing one's own meaning is dangerous. it entails a risk of falling into the turbulent seas with no land in sight. as a friend wrote so beautifully tonight, the philosophy that we hold dear flirts with nihilism, and it might be that for the rest of my life i balance on a thin line between truth, reality, and error. but passion gives the tension to stay above the crowd that laughs below, dumbfounded, and transformation grants the slack to sway around stagnation. buffoons can jump up and down, and eventually, we all fall off of the line. the amazing thing is that as i continually catch myself, i sense my heart beating.
i know that i am alive. or at least, i think so, because sometimes it feels to be the case. and really, what more can i ask for then the chance to think through the hours so that while horizons swallow and give birth to suns, i follow along their path and watch possibilities open up? it could seem as though the same roads get traveled, the same obscurities become obstacles, and the same steps are taken such that one travels in circles. thoughtlessly. but i think from experience and believe that each day brings patterns that await to be revealed as freedoms for possibility, growth, and change. a robustness hides behind sunrises and sunsets that might be met differently when one volunteers to release the assumption that it is always only the same thing, all over again.
cycles are tricky. so are tautologies. and apparent end points, like life. and death.
so, while i inch my way to nowhere, carefully, methodically, and without knowing precisely why or when i will get somewhere, i think it is appropriate to remind myself that the practice is in the process. the value is in the clearing. the truth is in the questions. and the meaning is in the making.