Here in the darkness

There is much that can be learned here in the darkness, in this still, silent limbo called night. Here in the darkness most everything that seems important in the light of day fades into the shadows that border on nothingness. Chasing grades, graduating with honors, money, success, prestige, getting to join a competition, the esteem of the world. All that jazz. And one is happily left with, seemingly, nothing. Except for, maybe, the purpose of finding a purpose in life.

Maybe I'm just weird. Or I think too much. Surely, life would be altogether more pleasant, not to mention ridiculously easier, if I were to traipse merrily along down the road where we are all inevitably pointed towards. Live, breathe, die. School, career, family, kids. And so forth. Somehow I haven't been able to stop this spiel from rolling over and over again in my head. What is the purpose of life? Seems like I haven't gotten anywhere near to answering that question since it first made a troublesome bother of itself some blinking years ago. Well. I suppose I could think of it as a good thing. If and when I reach the end of that road and finally find the answer to all life's questions, that would be exactly what it is: the end of the road. So I could actually call all this endless questioning: living.

And so I question again. Here in the darkness where all melts away, and all the seemingly shiny things that looked so pretty in the daytime have no light of their own after all. Shit. Fuck. Where am I? Where do I go? And even if I did go there, where is there? And what's so damn good about it?

Sometime around two, three years ago I hung my search for answers of the beyond-temporal kind on a hook somewhere as I plunged entirely into the material world of, well, the world. And all was good, for a time. In the daytime, if I kept moving fast enough, all those questions would not be able to catch up with me. All that glaring emptiness. Move, move, move.

Here in the darkness all is still and silent. And the mind is left to wander free to ponder that cheesy question: What is the purpose of my life? If only it were as easy as taking up a random miscellanous faith and believing it on command. God = purpose? But even the wonder of the infinite, of that certain ineffable something, stirs no purpose in me. Not now, perhaps. Now, I merely ramble and shamble along. Hoping I end up somewhere. Anywhere. Nowhere.

All the seemingly purposeful designs of my daytime life are put to the test here at night. Perhaps that is why it is so difficult to get up in the morning. Upon awakening all is still dark and silent, and stirring against it requires the effort that only purpose can muster. To be sure, once one is up and about and touched by the rays of the morning, it is relatively easy to get moving again. Move, move, move. One little goal at a time. Makes things easier than to look upon that endless horizon, that vast expanse of dark, empty space. And yet it beckons. Surely there is some great mystery to be unraveled, waiting for us when we fall into the sky.

Geez, I must sound really depressed. But who cannot help but be so in the still darkness of the night, when the bounds of the universe become smaller than the four walls of one's room? But I can only ramble. In the here and the now I cannot resolve anything just yet. This is not, I am afraid, some grand exposition where I suddenly, magnificently, essay to tie every random thing I threw into the bubbling slew of my head into a neat little lump of whatsit. But perhaps there is tidbit or two to be gained, a mote of light--or dust?--that illuminates the tiniest of space. Perhaps my head is a bit clearer.

Oh, happy delusion.

theHERETICisIN.
o come, all ye faithful.