Present

The realization of a time limit on ones source of happiness has two possible outcomes: paralysis and depression or excitement and re invigoration. In the big picture, all of a lifetime is a brief flash in the pan of existence. Springs of happiness shoot up at random occasionally, and one cannot give in to the creed of despair but must tackle with full spirit the proverb carpe diem.

The beauty in this is that enjoying the present is not just living, but the action of grasping, the effort of reaching beyond the comfortable and mundane. To express, to feel, to act as though this moment, this hour, this day might be the last. To engage fully with others, not merely as a bystander, but as the primary actor in the farce we call life.

Fears, frustrations, anger, anxiety...these are all roots and rocks which seek to hold one back from taking hold of the gleaming goblet of happiness, of experiencing the full beauty of life as not only a streaming black and white film of interactions and struggles, but a beautiful tapestry in which the central figure stands proud before adversaries and friends, with nothing in his way.

Time

Past, future and present, all words used to break up reality into general comforting terms, and yet all seem to give me none. The past is a line of falls and triumphs which have placed me where I am, but the present seems like a carpet which could at any time be pulled from under my feet and the future toil to an uncertain reward. My mind rejects this notion of reality, but I have not managed to find a more optimism projection. I want to tackle this.

Why should I live in uncertainty. Mastery of destiny should rest firmly in my hands. To think of it as volatile magic out of my grasp is to discredit logic, life and my own control. In my state of life, my choices, or lack thereof, tend to have little or no immediate effect. Inaction has been my default, but is unmaking me. Fear of speaking with others, fear of taking grasp of academics, all of this is holding me back.

Love

A trickle of water on a body in hibernation, sleeping through the simple but bearable drudgery of human existence. An existence with luxury and peace of mind, but without purpose. Empty.

The eyes open, but everything is out of focus. Does the water come from without, or from within. The viscosity isn't clear. Is it really water, or something else. Too bad you can't smell emotion.

As attention is focused, time seems to blur. Every drip is an eternity apart. Feelings surge through with intensity but the urge to act is subdued. To be scientific is to observe, not act.

The perspective shifts as I begin to see myself as more than just a body. Enlightened by equally parts water and myself. I sit up and look around. On the floor a puddle as formed.

In it I see a vague image of myself. Divided from the cruel sharpness of my analytical mind. Something not without flaw, but good. Something greater than the sum of it's parts. Something.