this is winter. pointilism by mai
I rode a wave today.
Not too long ago I thought about dying.
People are afraid of that word. I used to be.
But I've played around with the thought of it since I was 6. Or 7.
We look at children these days and we think they are so young.
They don't know better.
True, in some cases. But most often there is a very special intelligence in their minds.
We lose it when we become adults.
It gets lost in our life patterns and in our day to day routines.
I played with the thought of death because I like to imagine what it's like.
What it's like not to worry about making money.
What its like not to think about if we're going to make our dreams come true.
What it's like not to think about living.
Or people.
Or caring.
Or all of that which makes us human.
When I think about being human I admit, I get angry. Occasionally.
This is the low part of the rollercoaster.
And I enjoy it all the same.
I think about death when I want to throw away my cares, my ambitions and my passions.
It's not physical death, just mind death.
Meditation. Call it what you want.
We're all here for a purpose.
We're all here to ride our own rollercoaster.
I enjoy thinking about when I can get off mine.
And float around. Empty.
I'd miss everything though.
The feelings. The moments. The sunset.
Although, I suppose, I'd miss them dead or alive.
I'd be missing them because they would be gone.
And it wouldn't matter then.
Because they are gone.
Don't you see how beautiful this ride is?
So the wave I rode not too long ago... it passed, as usual.
I noticed it better this time.
I witnessed the life and death of the rollercoaster.
I loved it because I can.
