And then there is this inner destructive feeling that all of it would not make sense if the bad is not happening. Because bad has a unique power, it chose me, it gave me value, even if false, even if it is through pain, it hurts me and with it I am seen, it’s engaging, it has something essentially needed to make living with a fragile mind possible; it is distracting. Others without it had it differently when they got distracted without feeling pain through it. But we were not the lucky ones. We had to pay a price for it. And we keep it because it is none of our power to fight it. It gets so big that it becomes everything seen, felt and imagined. It becomes the meaning. In the realm of these hungry ghosts, one feels like a slave caged for a beautiful monster who feeds on us, we re-grow at night only to be eaten in the morning. It is pain. It is an unchosen addiction. It is waking up to climbing a mountain that keeps getting bigger reaching the sky, or swimming in an ocean that has no end, and you never fall and you never drown, you only continue and keep waiting for the end, and it never comes. And how the sky and the ocean are foreign places for those who are enjoying the comfortable steps on the ground, yet it is hard for the climber of the immense mountain or the swimmer in the endless ocean to imagine how walking on the ground feels like, it is not part of their world, the ground is the foreign place, it is scary, it didn’t choose me, it’s not engaging me, it is not distracting enough, it has no meaning. Consciousness kicks in and I get aware that my excessive seeking for what appears to me as a savior is in fact a distraction, a meaning in disguise. But I would feel lost and fearful without pursuing it. Rejecting the meaning leaves me out, alienates me from what I think is my self, it promises me healing but demands me to leave the rainy forest to go find water in the desert, arguing this water tastes better than the rain. I feel confronted to re-think the meaning of my living in a much more daring way that my mind is too vulnerable to meet, if I am to imagine my life outside the cage, because the conscious me, already having been deprived from the normal, gaining consciousness of it, witnessing it, grieving it and growing nothing but shame along the way, now knows very well, even if wrongly, that pursued meanings are pursued distractions, and searching for an alternative with such inner belief of its ridiculousness and delusionality is beyond human. After all I am happy when I am deceived into thinking that what I am doing has some sort of significance that will distract me from the unanswered questions of my existence, but knowing that such significance doesn’t exist defies the premise of happiness initially sought. And what is left is the starting point.