Photo barrowed from www.fusionview.com
What if Albert Camus got it right that our existence is nothing but like that of dried peas in the pan, whiling away time and waiting for the next moment to be moved to another pan? Or maybe just as that old man whose repetitive act is our own Sisyphean task? Isn’t that scary? It kind of scares me at times, especially when I look at the great suburban America and its inhabitants, including me, easily get lost to the daily cycle of work- sleep- work, in denial that the daily thrusting of our lives into the world in pursuit of the elusive happiness is nothing but an illusion for everything that exist in this present reality are all temporal in their state. Storing treasures that has no eternal value at all yet we base our entire life and decisions upon this foundation that we deem is on solid rock. But if we were honest enough, we know that there are more sands under our feet than rock.
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