This is my life, floating before me like a premonition. Visible yet not physical. Viable yet not yet manifested. My life. This is my life. O how beautiful, how frightening, how strange.
To weep in the night at life's uncertainties as though being alive and healthy is a burden in itself because there are so many other things you feel like you should/could be doing, but you don't know what. What is the purpose of it all? Of all this unbearable beauty, of all the suffering and pain? Sometimes all of this potential and uncertainty hurts me, cuts into my throat and digs its claws into my esophagus. What beautiful pain, to contemplate human existence. It's hard to describe what I mean because there is no particular word in the english language (that I know of) which can accurately describe this sensation. I mean, it's almost a paradox. I just love life so much and I want to make the most of it that sometimes it puts me through me actual fits of anxious panic. It's fascinating. This feeling isn't exactly sadness, it's something else. While this suffering is unpleasant, I like to view it as liberation. Not everyone contemplates the meaning of their existance. Not everyone experiences such a dynamic range of thoughts and feelings.
While I don't think it's healthy to experience this sort of "Fear and Trembling" (any Kierkegaard fans out there?) too often, it can be extremely cathartic.
You know I'm talking to you, all of you young philosophers, you musicians, poets and artists. You know how life is constantly floating upon this undercurrent of existential contemplation, and how this river flows endlessly through our veins.
We have to keep ourselves busy with activities and projects, keep on moving, because stagnancy is equivalent to drowning. You can't get caught up in that inevitable current or try to fight it. Don't try too hard to figure anything out. Life just flows on and on.