Empty space

I still have the feeling
of a large empty space
in my head
when I concentrate
on the purpose of life

Could it be a hint,
that empty space,
that nothing?

From a notebook, 2005

That nothing is what I feel too, even when I try to connect with my real personality, deadly afraid to face my past for my sense of self. Who am I amidst all this noise? I have an idea, but I don’t dare reveal it yet, very afraid to let go of my familiar personality. I allow myself to be seen only occasionally, by confidants, fellow philosophers, so to speak, because I dare to call myself that, just not to everyone. So I don’t yet dare to claim that identity. When people ask what I do, I say I’m a carpenter. It comes out hesitantly, but for convenience, I say I’m a carpenter. Actually, I’m a philosopher, which is just a word. I’ve never had illusions or dreams, and if you examine them, then you’re what they call a philosopher. I once had illusions, but for the last four or five years, I’ve been almost certain that I no longer have illusions, or maybe this is an illusion; I don’t expect any great insights anymore that make me believe there’s a purpose beyond our time here on this rock with a layer of mold on it. No more illusions, only… dreams.