Gazing At The Stars

Reaching out and looking up we extend our reach, further and further our quest leads us on, evermore. Killing time we pace the boardwalk listening and watching. Others exist and in our madness we refuse to believe. What is it that spurs our actions and our hearts?

Deep below the surface, scrambling in the self same quest and quests, activity pursues itself. Chasing the end justifies the means and along the way death happens. Finding the secret door of opportunity, we relish what is to come, never stopping long enough to catch up to ourselves.

Running is good exercise and as the body flees from our sights, we yearn to keep pace. Lagging and languishing, we remain the trodden few who dream of other times and other places. Some-where is better than no-where. But who is it that actually busies ourselves with such foolishness?

There is no secret to success, but driven on, we seek it anyway and pay the price. Is it cause and effect which grasps us or is it just the shadows coming out of our dreams? Frightening ourselves, we seek refuge. Finding comfort becomes the reward and leaving ourselves we pack our baggage and head out west to explore the Great Unknown.

Frozen in time our thoughts present to us an altogether different picture. Immersing ourselves, we find no way out. Of course, there is no way out, but there is knowledge of what it is that we are really doing to ourselves.

Replacing one set of actions for another is like continuously catching the next train.

Perhaps, after a time, there will be a realization that neither baggage nor train are necessary for one's proof of existence. Pictures, in whatever format and in whatever method of continuity are the existence and proof that one is alive.

As a spiritual being, beyond death and destruction, how is it that we must prove, beyond any doubt, that we are alive.

Proof is not in it's demonstration but in the mere fact of being.

Nothing else even comes close.

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