Time

I am wandering in a corridor of time. The corridor has various rooms which can be entered. When I was younger, I went into various rooms. Some were called "successful career," "Harley Davidson," "monastery," "somebody's girlfriend," or "be somebody." Many people go in these rooms, find they like them and stay there. I never became satisfied with any of these rooms. Now I view them as forms of unconsciousness, mind-numbing entertainment. Now I view unconsciousness as a hinderance or a jail for growth of the mind.

But, if you refuse these rooms of entertainment, you are left with a corridor of nothing. I am not involved in anything. Sure, I go to work everyday and have a few other activities; but my time is often spent staring at nothing. I listen to silence. I don't relieve boredom by shopping, eating, reading, talking on the phone, TV or even internet surfing. I just let the time go by with as empty a mind as possible. Time goes past. I have ceased accomplishing anything.

I have reached the heights of human experience. This is it: nothing, silence, waiting, wandering an endless corridor of sameness. No one knows what love is.

I am not bound to the world. What a remarkable thing that is. Yet, I do not know what I am. I cannot translate the condition of freedom into words (as yet).