On The Cycles Of Life, A Journal Entry
Here I share a journal entry reflecting on the seemingly never-ending cycles we encounter in life. Slowly discovering that they are spirals and truly have an end.
On The Cycles Of Life
The cycles of life are my traveling route . Wide and endless, narrowing my freedom to simple existence. I am only free to exist. A never-setting sun guided by its own light. I follow its appeal like a moth craves the fire. I follow the mirage of reaching the edge of the world.
A cycle is none if its self-obsessed nature is unknown. So I blindly travel with innocence, ignoring the deja vus, guilty of my own knowing. Innocence is blind to its own nature, therefore it’s the one who sees it that bears all the guilt.
I am envious of the ease, of the natural, of the soil and the bark, of the humid air. I am envious of the skin of the young, of its perfect weaving. Intertwined threads of pure ecstatic life. Reflecting light with pride. Imposing its refined texture as an undiscussable truth. I am jealous of the mindless living.
Yet I know the secret. I know something the cycles won’t tell. I know their hidden flaw, their deepest worry. I know they aren’t what they are called to be. They are spirals and there lays my hope. They hide a core and there lays my destination. Armed with patience and brainwashed by the recurrence of all things, I travel light.