depression

Breathing Through It

I know I don’t have it that bad.

I know things can always be worse.

I know that as long as there is still breath in my body, I have the opportunity to do something better.

The problem is that I feel compelled to serve a higher purpose, a universal purpose that goes beyond just what might happen in my my lifetime.  I was to have an impact.

But what’s the point?  I won’t witness it.  The assholes of the world inevitably corrupt any system (including no system) because they just can’t keep their grubby little paws to themselves.

And really, what grand purpose?  If it exists, the universe is playing it awfully close to the chest.

What’s left?  Here and now, which makes logical sense and actually does promote happiness.  The problem is, it never feels like enough for the my grandiose and restless seeking that permeates every fibre in my being.

Can enjoying the little things now be enough to satisfy the soul, even as they satisfy the moment?  Is that all we can do?  Is the path in the now, in the simple present, or is there something more?

The conflict of my life pinballs between these two extremes, and it’s getting harder to get perspective.

But perspective I must get, before I’m overtaken by this impending sense of disaster.

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