This house is poison.
It sucks away my morale like a black hole. Naturally, my sleeping hours have shifted so that my waking hours are when everyone else is asleep. That helps a little, but what a way to run a railroad. I’m wasting so much time.
But what a view of the western horizon my room has. I never speculated what it would mean to be out there beyond the edge of it. That’s where I go when I drive off to school.
I woke up late, took a long time to get out of bed, decided to go running to the George Washington Bridge since it was a cool day. Took my time, had a horrible run, came home and drove out to a mall for no reason, got frustrated, came back, ate, went to sleep, woke up, watched TV, ate more, read, ugh it just goes on, doesn’t it. And all the while a great big fat doubt grows and looms.
Heaven/Nirvana: Objectivity and truth.
What is it that people keep describing as heaven? They make entering heaven a happy thing, it’s always painted in terms of human aesthetics. A regal type of place with lots of gold and scented with perfumes with beautiful things and beautiful beings. Or it’s a clean, peaceful sort of place all in white with angels with peaceful comforting countenances playing harps. Always white people.
It’s a nice thing to dream about to assuage human fears of what is actually the end of the line, but is it truth? And if it isn’t truth, how can it be the end of the line? And if it is the end of the line and it is the truth, then why care? Is happiness and bliss truth, or is truth cold and objective with nothing to do with sorrow or happiness?
Or is entering nirvana simply an objective realization of truth? Not as nice a picture, but a little more easy to swallow, not tainted by someone’s bias of what heaven is. Or maybe heaven is exactly what is imagined right at the time it’s time to enter.
An old acquaintance from high school came by this evening. It was quite a surprise. You start thinking of high school as meaningless and the people as just passing by, but then a revisit makes you realize that they had some meaning, and you might as well be meeting them today and liking them just fine. And the teachers in high school, once they were symbolic, they were authority figures. They had responsibility and to some extent they demanded respect, but now they are just people with jobs.
