And so life goes on, unstoppable.

Meanwhile, as I try, search and run, I feel life slipping through my fingers. Will I ever fill this emptiness inside that makes me tremble, smother this fire inside that pushes me toward a thousand abysses while I long to hit pause on a runaway carousel spinning before me? Will I ever be able to stop and say: "Here it is, my life"?

Well, it seems this is what life is: running from it. I am not missing it by running; this is how it expresses itself in me.

Yes, each thing can be understood more deeply. An illusion vanishes if I go deep into it. Even a reality stops being when I look at it from outside. But then, isn't everything pure illusion? Am I not myself just an idea? Isn't this shallow, rough life as beautiful as God himself?

Life will always go on. As it flows, there is nothing else to do but try, search and run.

And isn't it a wonder to be here, trying, searching and running? Isn't it a miracle to be here, watching all of this flow before me? Isn't it a grace to be here, and yet be unable to stop and say: "Here I am"?