I'm getting tired of writing about the things I'm doing here--the parties and the sightseeing, the classes and the papers, what have you. All these external things--even the extraordinary place where I live--all of these refuse to penetrate at the moment, and I'm left walking around inside my own head. Not walking. More like treading water.
I am not unhappy. I am not even panicky or anxious. I am just confused.
We only get one life, you see. We either use it to seek truth, or we give up and start to collect things. I want to be good, I want to be kind, I want to be pure of heart, but I don't know if I want to look for truth anymore. Suddenly it seems very, very silly, like investing in something that will never yield any actual result, that will never make any visible impact, that will merely serve as some sort of spiritual pacifier that calms me but doesn't nourish me, eases everything but changes nothing. I don't want to cling to something because it makes life more bearable or makes me feel like a part of something or gives me a sense of identity. I want to believe in something because it's true, not just for me but for everybody, and this, this I suspect may not exist at all.