On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.
Have you ever stood on the precipice of time? Feeling miniscule amid the quandary of our microscopic selves, we hearken to the drumbeats of everybody else's rhythm. Not knowing how the future plays out, still we chart our ways out of fear for the inevitable.
Kingdoms rise and fall and the Earth does not tremble. What more could the universe pay heed to than a coterie of high level apes?
I surmise that it is this yearning that we seek to ignore the Little Prince. We're still trapped in the greatness of others that we mimic them as if they alone hold the keys to happiness and greatness. And it's a recurring pattern, a continuous theater, with death as its ending and we, as the actors.
says the Teacher.
Everything is meaningless.”
3 What do people gain from all their labors
at which they toil under the sun?
4 Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
5 The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
6 The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
7 All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
8 All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
Yet we persist to find meaning for ourselves - only to give meaning for others. It's amazing how convoluted this becomes in the greater schemes of things and in the grander theater of fate. Nations wage wars because of nationalistic identity, these feelings of destiny and superiority.
Tribes despise outsiders yet cannot see their own faults the rest of us see.
The sad thing about the book of Ecclesiastes is, most of it is true. As depressingly callous as it may sound, this shell of an existence doesn't account for anything if there was no God. We'd be higher form bacteria, evolved beyond the imagination of any accident monger.
Every great achievement and breakthrough would be inconsequential in the greater scheme of things. Thoughts, poetry, epics and legends are merely distractions of history in an endless amalgam of similarly meaningless annotations.
It is then that Peter asks, "Quo Vadis?"