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Last Updated on August 5, 2015

She served me the beer I was now drinking and enjoying with my friend. We sat there, in mental and emotional territory awoken or perhaps highlighted by our response to the movie we’d just seen only minutes before. Talking. Exploring rather deep and esoteric questions about the nature of life, purpose, function, and reality. Closer.

Our waitress finished work for the night. Easter Friday meant that a strict closing time of midnight was enforced. This was one of the only places on the street were we had even managed to find someone willing to serve us a drink—on one of the few nights I’ve actually searched for such a thing in many months. With her cigarettes, cellphone, and note pad she sat close enough to have a conversation, although the distance called for a loud voice and certainly didn’t allow for a feeling of intimacy. We could hear each other and that was enough.

After some chat about superficial topics typical of first meetings, I asked her “why are you here, what is your purpose for being alive?” Initially it was perhaps that fact that her mother tongue is German that she didn’t understand what I meant.
“You are alive in this body, yes?”
“Well yes…”
“… And if you walk out onto that street tonight and happen to step in front of a bus and it wipes your body out then life here in this world will cease for you, yes?”
She agreed.
“So, if this life that you have is so fragile, yet it is here and you are here, why are you here? What is your purpose? What are you passionate about?”
“… ummm… this is such a hard question. I don’t know the answer”
“Well, you are travelling, yes, so what is it you are looking for”
Her German was no longer the issue. Rather this was unfamiliar territory for her too.
She determined that she was looking for happiness. For joy. Yet also for sadness.
Happiness.
“So you are looking for happiness. Have you ever considered why you are here in this world”
She had not.

So here we are. My whole life—well, my life since perhaps 7 years of age when I started pondering such “big questions”, and more intensively since 12 or so—I’ve not been able to live without this question or an awareness of this question in my consciousness. Here she is, and this is perhaps the first time she’s given her attention to such a thought.

Life in this world is a very bizarre phenomena. Life is strange. Yet strangely it is beautiful.

Consciousness unfolding.

Apparent fragments of That which I AM unfolding through time and space. Just a perception.

There is only that life that I Am… yet so many expressions. So many experiences.

Life is mysterious.

Is that, perhaps, why humanity goes to such length to destroy it?

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