A Thing Called Desire

When you are walking down a really dangerous path, a path between fantasy and reality, love and hate, acceptance and denial, truth and falsehood , self and others , light and darkness - you tend to have something to hold on to- because if not, you'll be gone, and lose yourself.

Some people say that it's your faith, it's your convictions..

your God.

some are most simplistic, rather than some abstract forms of consciousness, they argue that one should hold on to their families, their memories ....

The one who will continue to love you most , regardless of what happened to you down the journey.

Maybe they are all true. Maybe not. Who knows?

But firstly what is it with these desires to actually walking down such a dangerous and potentially meaningless path?

Desire.

For me, it's just desire. A sense of curiosity, a lamentation of life and its tragic idleness. An individual self seeking depths of water unattainable within the grounds of the current constructs of life circling humanity.

Trying to break the unbreakable. Unveil the unattainable mysteries.

Is it a fun journey? Hardly. It was lonely, full of deception, full of dilemma. Full of difficult choices.very confusing.

The "God" is the voices of "Satan", and the "Satan"'s God's.

Such is the peril of seeking an individualistic meaning of life. It's tragic attribute- very selfish is its nature.

" Just cut the crap. Your God has already prepared all the stuff. It's like an art teacher giving you all the right materials needed to do your drawing . You simply need to get one drawing board and color your canvas with them- a readily made canvas of "life" with readily given colors of "self"- what you want to do is your choice then.Color them all you want, but for the love of God, just simply obey your teacher's instruction!".

True, perhaps.

But then I am reminded that some people are indeed inclined to being anti-establishment. There might be reasons for them though. Then I think, am I one of them?

If I am one, then it matters. It is the statistical inevitability.

I am that naughty child who doesn't want to draw but forced to. Who cares if my art teacher gives me everything?

I just want to write.