Sometimes, the world around me seems like a reflection on water. Insubstantial. I'm not sure why this is. The people aren't insubstantial. The trees, the mountains, the rivers and waterfalls and oceans, don't seem insubstantial, but they all seem to be connected to whatever lies beneath the surface, what is hidden by this reflection, yes, including the people, whether they are fully aware of it or no. Like undersea mountains that break the surface to form islands. Walls seem insubstantial. Carpet and computers and shelving and chairs and lamps and tables and washers and driers and towels and clothes and television and and and... these are what seem insubstantial. Not that they are bad. Nor good. Perhaps they provide comfort, warmth, a way to nourish one's self, convenience when writing or painting, but they are not Real. Only reflections. I don't really understand it, I'm not trying to be metaphorical or deep, but this is the way my mind perceives things.
I'm finding myself contemplating the value of what I'm doing with my life recently. I suppose much of this comes from seeing close friends start to realize some of their dreams. Marriage and family, the start of an online metaphysical supply shop, work towards a paranormal investigations group and a spiritual center, a career in the coast guard... so many things seem to be falling into place for them, because they have had a sense of direction. Me... I wander. I write. I paint. I fly to faraway locales and find myself in the wilds, perhaps somewhat content, but... I still feel I lack direction. But, what direction do I want to take? I've agonized over this for years, and I've never come to a conclusion that seems to be worthwhile. Do I truly need a direction, a purpose? Would life simply be meaningless, a waste, if I released the need to be driven by some goal? Am I my intent? Must I have a Story? Or is life better lived in the moment, day by day, immersed in the beauty and splendour, the joy and sadness, the longing, the peace and chaos that is found in the universe? Every day, touching something that perhaps is a little beyond sight. Walking between the worlds, reflecting it in art and writing and dreaming. Is that my Story?