A Set of Questions
How to find my masculine and keep the integrity? How to be successful and not hurt other people? How to acknowledge who I am and then grow beyond who I thought I was? Is the ultimate goal being that other persona? Is it switching between personas? Is it keeping the values? How to not get stuck in the past of who we were even if it was successful? What should we capitalize upon and what parts should we let go? How to deal with the fact that the more connected we are the less significant we are? One day I am somebody’s lover and the next I could be no one. What is it about us that keeps us stable? Is it all a made up story? What is the function of our brain? To keep us trapped or to free us from patterns? Who are we when we are stripped of all our belongings and our significant people, our family and loved ones? Is it necessary to go through that in order to discover? What is pain here for? Why do some days get totally lost to depression and meaninglessness and others are full of joy? Why is there a polarity in the world? Is it really about good and evil and taking sides? Who wrote this play? And why would we all be prepared to kill for our family but will be the first ones to judge a killer? When is it ok to be human? Is it possible to live without hurting other people and making mistakes? What is our role in other people’s lives? Are we the indifferent observer or the passionate lover or the Good Samaritan? Is our judgement almost always flawed? How can we claim universal truths? And if there isn’t one, how can the meaning of the word “good” have any meaning at all? Would we truly be “good” if we weren’t raised that way? Does the “good” fluctuate in its meaning throughout societies and how much do we know about it looking through the flawed perceptions of fellow scientists and sociologists and few travelers that are there to look for the truth and not for the ice-cream? Is it then a sacred duty to leave our belongings and travel the world, experience the subjective truth of our flawed perceptions and indulge in the self-righteousness of our discoveries? Is it really about seeing it through other people’s eyes? Or is that only a lie we tell ourselves, the ability to actually perceive something that even slightly resembles the complexity of other people’s unique point of view? Or do we all in our “specialness” really think of the same questions, quietly acknowledging that no living being can give us the answer to?
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
William Shakespeare
