Desolation of Everything

In the midst of recovering from yet another illness, I have found myself in the depths of thought, where all is but a trifle, meaningless void.

It’s not often the void and I come into contact as the mind always races to meaning for sheer survival.

Meaning is what scraps fill our mind, the ones that stick.

It might seem recognising all is void is a pointless exercise, if but to further refine one’s held illusions.

Writing this out forms a construct counter to any point I try to make as the void is no construct nor point, exactly.

Imagine losing faith in everything.

Let’s look to the concept of Heaven. It is many things to different people, unknowable certainly because it is a construct of the society that imagines it.

One can then say just as Heaven doesn’t exist, neither too the present, if a bit more vigorously refined by the groups that create a shared reality.