Yesterday I wrote a plan, a plan devised only of a journey with no ultimate destination. That is not to say, without the distinct and vivid colours of destiny however.
To be, how to be, what to be, so many questions when ‘being’ is probably the very answer to them all. Experiences draw conclusions, but to conclude bequeath the end.
Are we journeying to the end, even without a final location. Is life predetermined to the finite or are the actions we commit a karma to the infinite.
Religion. Belief. Humanity. Morality.
Is the purpose of life to replenish the goodness that initiates progress and happiness, an ideal for the future, or to remember our past and reflect on experience and the knowledge already ascertained.
Is doing the right thing as known by physics and history more advantageous than the courage to wonder of the mystical future.
Aspirations. Desire. Yearning. Morality.
Tomorrow I forget the plan, I lose a part of mankind, and get lost in serendipity.