Counter

Meaning of Life

I was talking to a close friend recently. She was pretty stressed out about work, school and personal problems; she didn’t know what the purpose of all her work, studies and struggles. “It is like being in the water”, she said, as if “I keep swimming back and forth and can never get anywhere”. I asked her if she was looking for the purpose of her life, to which she quickly replied “yes”. As we kept talking, it turns out she was looking for the ultimate answer, the “one” answer, the MOA (mother of all answers), what was the purpose to all we do in life, what is the ultimate goal, what is the meaning of life. I thought for a moment about this and had thought about how many times I have asked myself the same question. How many times had I been frustrated by the complexities of the world without a place to turn, questioning my self and question my purpose, why do I have to do anything? I remember thinking, as she was now, “where am I going with this”.

Many, many times I have wondered the same question my friend now had and though about what my answer had been. I have always been a deep thinker, at least that is what I’d like to believe, and thought that I had never had been able to produce an answer. I knew what I wanted, yes; I wanted to do well in life and to just be happy. But then I realized that there is no answer. To ask what the purpose of life is to try to answer a question that is still being formulated, a question that has just started to take shape and that would never really finish evolving.

So why then limit our self with a question as such? Truth is that is just human nature, we need answers to everything; we need answers on, where to begin and where to end, why did we start and why do we end. We assume that everything has a beginning and an end just because we have a beginning and an end. I told Daniele, why waste your time worrying about where you need to swim to, why not “swim” because you like to “swim” why not enjoy the water and let the current take you where it may, enjoy the nice warm water but also know that the water sometimes is cold and rough, but don’t fight it or you’ll get tired and drown, use the water itself to stay afloat, after all the meaning of life is not some goal you reach but journey that needs to be taken and the satisfaction is on the turns you take on this “path”

Fantasies

I was recently having a conversation about fantasies; what is the real reason for fantasies? I supposed many of us think of fantasies in a sexual way… (well I do most of the time) but the reality is that fantasies are the craving of the undiscovered, the things that we imagine would push our senses to the limits of ecstasy, at least in theory.

Remember your first crush in high school? Remember that desire of kissing her/him? How many times did you go home fantasizing about your lips touch her lips, how many times did you close your eyes and thought of the most wonderful times with that person? If you were lucky enough and your fantasy became a reality, was it really what you imagine? Is reality the afterlife of a fantasy and loses its original purpose.

I think fantasies live only in our minds and are a product of imagination and inspiration, like a marriage between the sky and the sea, like the soft caresses of the waves on the sand. Fantasies are a reality not yet lived, thoughts lost in the vast ocean of our imagination, thoughts that don’t follow the logic of reality but that give reason to the existence of our senses. So what are my fantasies?

Waking up to the many pleasant dreams that have always filled my nights, rested and full of energy to experiences in a timeless morning. Feeling the soft tender lips of that girl, letting her perfume fill my nostrils and feeling the silk of her hair between my hands and have the time never pass. Seeing the blue of the ocean make love to the sky, feeling the wind on my face and seeing the clouds slowly pass. Touching my flesh to her flesh and seeing her smile open up. Having my dreams be her dreams and making our fantasies become one.

Silence

Looking out the window of my apartment, the sun struggles to find its way into my room this morning. The view that I usually have of downtown is muted; the relentless fog has made the scene its playground this morning, and its cold hands grip it refusing to let go. The sound of cars passing by seems distant and their hunting cries are absent; they hide under the cover of the fog as if afraid of scaring it away. The buildings across the street seem sleepy, quiet, and serene. This morning is calm and the silence still remains.

The crows, and from time to time a car passing by break the deep silence – like the jerks a body makes sometimes, like the tossing and turning before waking up. This morning the sounds seem faded, a melody of peaceful quietness. I can see the trees in the distance, the wind caressing and flirting with them, gently moving and dancing in a mesmerizing choreography of rhythms. The minutes and seconds have been stripped from the clock across the room. This morning has been captured in a motionless moment in time.

I close my eyes and let the silence of the morning take my thoughts. They slowly drift in a sailboat of consciousness, taken by the soft playful wind, out of the reach of the bonny grip of the world and into the ocean of fantasies, beyond the reach or reality and into the land of impossible dreams. The sailboat moves up and down to the rhythm of the silence, gently moving over the rocking waves of the sea, over the ever present “ifs” and “could be”.

My body, under a spell, relaxed, submerged in the sweet music of the non-existing noise. My eyes are closed refusing to obey. The air fills my nostrils and brings with it the sweet aroma of the flowers five floors below, their perfume making its way up and wanting to be found, looking for attention, searching for a lover to share its life.

The sunlight begins to filter through. The seemingly long struggle with the fog is coming to an end. The roaring engines of cars on the street pull my thoughts back from their calming voyage. The buildings yawn and open their eyes to welcome the new day, and suddenly the piercing and indifferent scream of the phone claims the morning; it is over, and the orchestra of silence retires with the fog and the smell of flowers. The gentle wind has been subdued and my thoughts have been pulled back to the shore of reality; the silence is gone, for now the silence is gone.




Counter