What does it mean to be human? To be compassionate? What is it that drives us, motivates us, makes us feel, want, love, hate, long and mourn? What makes us so fiercely hopeful of the coming dawn, of the hidden rose (or a nugget of gold, whichever you prefer) in the pool of mud we keep digging through in our lives?
What is right and what is wrong?
Nothing is right. Nothing is wrong. All just grains of experience, shaping us, evolving us, pushing us further. Further towards... what? I don't have the answer and I don't believe there is one. Maybe there are millions. Maybe everything we do, say and feel is relevant. Maybe. What if it isn't? Is there a point to it then? To being here at all?
Of course there is. We do not have to see it. It is not our purpose to see. Our purpose is to flow with the stream. That is what we are made to do. Not thinking, not searching answers, not trying to come up with solutions and outmanoeuvre the god of fate, but being.
Being is the essence of life and who doesn't do it, doesn't live. There is no true definition of being. It means something else to everyone. Millions of answers. All revelant and all irrelevant depending on who's asking the question and how he or she wants to perceive.
Is asking the question being? Or is it simply another way of trying to outsmart life? To avoid being? To find the answer?
There are no answers. There are no choices and there are no consequences. It is all nothing but a natural flow of things.
Don't try being. Be.
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