A day in the life of you. Decisions. Actions. Movements. Thoughts. Are we enslaved to fate? Definitely maybe.
Tomorrow you will awake without knowledge of what the transcript of your conversations will look like if it were to exist. What to do, what to say, who to be? And then conscious thoughts emerge from your brain as if they were a swarming school of fish swimming without direction. But it’s all okay right? You’ll figure it out along the way.
It's impressive really, our artistry. Surviving alone has forced us to craft our extemporizing abilities. No scripts. We are improvising in every action, every decision, and every conversation. Except when we’re not. Except when we’re following orders. Except when we feel our body becoming too real. Except when we treat this majestic playground (the world) with an immutably stern outlook… that’s when we lose what makes us human. I don’t know what that really is (the unifying aspect of humanity), and probably never will, but I would guess that it has something to do with passion, meaning, connection, creativity, and an inexplicable desire to be valuable in such a confusing environment. We will share our confusion with one another for no reason at all. Or maybe for the purpose of masking it, or unveiling it, or describing it, or even battling it. Or maybe to display the extension of our compassion. But never for explaining it with any real seriousness; it is impossible to know anything, and simultaneously impossible to not know anything.
To treat the world as if it were clay to be shaped may lead to a colorful consciousness that yields glowing sensations.
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