Why is now now? It was the future. It is the past.
Why am I who I am? There are other people, now, before and afterwards. Why am I not one of these countless others instead?
Why am I male? Why am I racially white? These are not things I chose... yet they are defining aspects of my being.
Why is anyone good or evil? Even if it is a matter of free will, why do we choose what we choose? Yes, we have genetic inclinations and can be swayed by circumstances... but are they happenstance?
There is something strange about me. I am not merely a different version of the same thing. I am profoundly distinct.
My race, sex and circumstances are entirely normal. My moment in time is the most crowded of all time. My success in life is minimal: not a failure but going nowhere.
I write and illustrate fiction. Reality is what it is regardless.
My sincerity is the only thing exceptional about me. It is the spirit of everything I do... but nothing comes of it. My tree bears fruit but in a grove of countless and fruitful trees.
Am I special? Not really. Then again, reality is pointless. The insincerity is the failure of everything. It is why goodness is fake in the world. Everyone is ultimately cynical accordingly.
I am not what is wrong with the world... and that is the only thing special about me.
I have begun to realize that nothing I have experienced is arbitrary. What I saw as unfortunate circumstances ended up serving a purpose. Even my present condition provides opportunities that would not be readily available otherwise.
ReplyDeleteThe spiritual is the decisive factor. It started it all. It brings everything to fruition.
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