And I wonder whether people have always been like this, searching for some lost fragment of their soul. Everyone is striving so hard to reach that ultimate goal, run that last race, but it’s never over, is it? Because if it were over, there’d be nothing left to do.
It makes me think of the fragility of our existence. Like that German expression: milk can become sour in one second! So we better keep drinking until it does. Because sour milk is gross.
I was thinking about tortured souls recently. About how many brilliant artists and musicians and writers are all tortured, have all had some hardship in their life that forces them to spill out their thoughts onto their canvas of choice.
Are they brilliant because they are tortured? Or are they tortured because they are brilliant?
It saddens me how the sheep, who admire these shining stars, push themselves to appear more tortured, more eccentric, as if this could somehow bring them closer to their idols.
But why is it that their songs, their stories, their paintings, speak far more to me than any person I have ever met, than any dream I have ever had?
Maybe what I envy is their greater understanding of human existence. I feel that somehow, there is something I am missing that they have already understood. Is that why they are tortured?