Of late, am very conscious of the passage of time. Of how we get up, and cook and eat, and fight and run, and work and sleep and make love or lust. Of our struggles and passions; dreams - the ones we've seen and the ones we havent.
Ten years ago, 'What must I do?' was a question that had very definite answers, or at least that's what I was conditioned to believe. No such illusions today. In fact, 'What's the point of it all?' is a question that am quite fed up of, frankly. I have thought about it ever since I remember beginning to think.
It really doesn't matter what you do: time passes. You could have children, or maybe you could trade on the stock market. You could write books, or you could renounce the world, if there's anything called the world and if you could indeed renounce it.
I feel old today. No, it's not pessimism. (You cant be pessimistic or optimistic about life.
Well, life's life and there's not much you can do about it.) It's just a slow weariness. An intense desire for nothing. It's like wanting to sit on the sea shore. Am open to all that the sea brings me. But I will not move. The sea must come to me, and bring what it will. I have no desire to go to the sea, nor do I want to go away from it. I want to 'not be'. They call it 'zeroising' in bank jargon.
Another night is coming on. And all I want to ask you is, 'Can I hold you tonight?'