What is the soul made of? What is the mind made of? What is the ego made of? What is the conscience made of? What are thoughts made of? What does it even mean to follow your heart? Can the heart think? Does the heart tell the brain what to think? Does the brain think? Or does the mind think? What is the mind made of? Does the mind consult the heart, before it uses the brain to process the language of the heart? I guess it does, I can feel it happen sometimes. It’s a little swell in the chest, the same swell that you feel in the lungs when you gasp for breath.

What is the answer? Nothing. They’re all constructs. We are taught these constructs, they are neither natural, nor obvious.

Do we need constructs? Why do we need constructs? What is an abstraction? Who provides the concretes? Is anything absolute? Are absolutes abstractions of ideals? Are ideals concretes? Are concretes ideal? 

Travel the world, they say. Find yourself. Get lost. Get drunk. Get a life. Find love. Get a job. Pray. Run. Eat. Sleep. Enjoy your coffee. Have a great day. Take care. Safe flight. They have a lot to say. These people, they have too much to say. Who are they? Who knows?

Why are we existential beings? Does existence crave validation? Can we provide it with the world we’ve created? Do we already? So what? What happens once we’re gone? Is life about finding the right answers? Or is life about asking the right questions? What happens if we ask the wrong questions? The answers exist despite us. It’s only the questions we can be proud of.

Who are you? That’s the big question, isn’t it? That’s what all this stuff is about anyway. The car, the job, the money, the lifestyle, the music, the movies, the art, the fashion. It’s who you are. Who are you without it all? Without stuff. So much stuff. Where did all this stuff come from? Who are you without your stuff? Are you your name? Just a name? Like a phone number with no phone? Are you what you do? Are you your job? Are you your thoughts? What are thoughts? Are you your choices? What choices are we left? Choice is only illusory anymore. We’re left the choice to go anywhere we please so long as we don’t leave the sandbox. Are we happy? Sure we are. I am. I’m profoundly happy. I’m happy to do it all, and I’m happy to play along. As long as I’m allowed to complain, I will also remain happy. Don’t take that away from me. It’s all I have. Besides all my stuff. And my name... and stuff.

The next time I’m asked to get a life, I might just take a life. Take care? What is it to “take” care? Is it like “taking” a life? And when you’re asked to “have” a nice day, can you just “have” it? Is it like having cake? Is it like eating cake? Can you have your cake and eat it too? Can you have your cake if you don’t eat it? They say these things. They say too many things. Don’t listen to them. You don’t even know who they are. Just be.