I read your thoughts as they run around, even as your thoughts spin around, and you don’t know who thinks them or reads them as from a list.

Everything in your life meant and means a lot to you. Every thing. You were impressionable. You are still. Life affects you. It has an effect on you. Life is like the hand that bounces you as you go along, you, and the Earth turns. Where did you come from, and where are you going?

You seek the Meaning of Life. You seek the meaning of your Life. You are the Meaning. You are the Meaning of all that you hold holy even as holy is a vague principle to you.

What does anything mean, and what does anything not mean? You have no idea. You are in a maze that does not exist. You are hardly amazed, yet you are pretty much stunned by life, this life that seems to hold you by the neck. It is all proprietary, this life that you make too much of, even as you shake it off.

You don't know how you got here, and you don't know what's going on. You play at a shadow-dance. Your feet are heavy on the ground even as your feet don't touch. Yes, you may feel you are a ball bounced around by an Unseen Force. You wonder if the Unseen Force really sees you?

There are times you don't exist. There are times that you are the whole extent of existence. Other times you are a mere onlooker or not even that. It is like you are the onlooker looking on yourself from a distance while not paying attention.

What is Life all about anyway? Where have you been?

When does Life begin, you wonder. Where is it going, and why does it matter so much, if at all? It is just for a moment, a brief glimpse that means everything to you and, at the same time, means nothing to you at all. You are hardly present. Life is hardly a fantasy, and it is hardly real. It is non-existent. It's a lot of talk.

Your life may feel like a smudge on a piece of white paper.

You are surprised and disappointed at the same time.

You are free and under a yoke.

Sometimes it seems that Life is opposed to Life, even if Life possibly exists at all. Are you for Life or are you not for Life at all, perhaps none whatsoever. Were you ever? You too often go through motions.

You thought you were down-to-earth, yet you never touched base, and Heaven was not findable. Was Heaven for you or not? Everything was a thought, and, in many cases, hardly thought about at that.

Where were you when Life was going on, or was supposed to be going on? Were you in hiding? And yet you were not hidden. You existed somewhere, but where? And what for? What's the story?

Life may have seemed more infernal than eternal.

Where were your words written or spoken, and where did they go? What did they amount to, if anything?

Where did your Life go as it disappeared and appeared to let you down, and what was Life about anyway? It seemed to matter here and there, and yet it mattered not at all. You were the blind man who says, "I see," yet he saw not at all.

It seems in retrospect that your life was a picture in your eyes. You and Life were introverted and controverted. You did not see, and you were not seen.

Yet, through it all, you did handspins or cartwheels.

How do you know all these words called vocabulary, and what is language, and where does language take you and what is it for when you don’t understand a blessed thing, even as you stand up before crowds and mutter words before them with pauses in between. You don't have much to say, even as you are hailed as an authority.

You used to think that you were the engineer of the train. Today you feel like a passenger who didn't buy a ticket.

Somehow you mesmerized yourself. You are in a trance, and you are the trance-maker. When will you wake up and announce your wakefulness? And to whom? Are you mumbling to yourself?

Who are you anyway even if you do exist? Where have you been, and where are you going? Do you go along with yourself, or are you someone who waves so long and, then, disappears into the Vastness where you really are all along?