(July 31, 2004)
Sometimes I pour my heart out to the moon; I wait until it is so full it's almost leaking, then go for a run, shouting and whispering and listening but never quite hearing myself or anyone else. Tonight I ran with two neighbouring cats; they didn't always call, but now they meow whenever they want me to come out, and I felt like meowing back. I might possibly be off my rocker, but it's not hampering my existence, so we should just accept it. Insight is worthwhile, whatever its form.
What I don't understand is how someone can be constantly in a state of flux while remaining completely static. I look back at myself, at my selves, over the course of my lifetime, and realize that my opinions, my ideas, my most inner beliefs are not solid - they shift from moment to moment, so that I don't even realize that I used to feel entirely differently about something until someone reminds me. And yet, despite this, I am always the same, almost stagnant but not quite, never really growing or changing; it is as if everything alters itself so often that it blurs into a single reality. My core is always and never the same; perhaps it doesn't exist.
I used to wonder if I was guilty of hiding things from myself, as I rarely understand my own drives and motives, but as time passes, I start to think that there are no causes for them at all. It would be easy to fall into solipsism, because I am so tuned into the universe that I can feel the vibrations of things when I stop to open my awareness to it, but I also don't understand anything. It's like tapping into the heart of the Earth, but becoming so mesmerized by its beating that the mechanics behind it can never be perceived. I feel as if I am everywhere and nowhere, all and nothing, confused and omniscient. I don't know if I need to remedy this or if I've reached some sort of bemused nirvana, but it's not really important, because I'm too lost to do anything about it either way.
Then again, change is the only static variable we've declared, isn't it?