I like to think life is a journey. I love the way the very next moment remains always unpredictable, and the next thought seemingly like something from the past, or is it? We, the humans, are in a stupor, fully awared of the impermanence of life, yet living as if there is always tomorrow. Every journey has to end someday, I remind myself as my soul shivers in fear. It is the religious ones who concocted the places called heaven and hell, as a consolation for those left behind by their loved ones, as a moral yardstick or striking rod.
I find myself in a dilemma: wishing for it all to end, yet having too much attachment to earthly pleasures to pull the plug. I have lost the map somehow, and missed the last known junction and petrol station for refill. In short, I am in no man's land, without devices, or desire sufficed to travel the rest of the way home. Where is home then, when I don't believe in heaven or hell. I don't even believe in myself anymore.