On Point

I wonder if there is a point. It’s like that old adage about the meaning of life. Some spend their entire life searching for the meaning of it until even their own life loses its meaning. Are we all just chasing our tails like a flea bitten dog? There is so much passion out there in the world and like most things it is ill placed, ill-timed and just plain ill. It seems every day, in at least one part of the world, people are grieving from the crimes of passion. All we need is love? It seems love cannot exist without its ill bedfellow, hate. To have one we must have the other. If terrorism represents hate then it must represent love to another. To love something so much that the only option is to kill and die for its cause surely must be the definition of a passionate affair. Unfortunately or nonsensically they both just end in death which seems to be a strange solution to the meaning of life question. I wonder if there is a point. I get up every day and go to work to watch animals suffer to save the human race. To cure diseases, often lifestyle inflicted, to ensure that the dominance of my species remains. But why? So we can keep killing? Keep bringing fear into others’ lives? Keep populating an overpopulated earth? To keep destroying our nature’s gifts? I wonder if there is a point. It is not as if I don’t love. I love people so much it leaves a dull ache in my chest. It is not as if I am not loved by others. But I wonder if there is a really point in all this. What are we doing with our lives? Will there ever be a day I can face without a gut full of anxiety? Will there ever be a day that I can say that I’m ahead, that I did something worthwhile? I don’t know what the meaning of life is, but I know that it isn’t love as hate will always shadow that. I hope it is something stronger than love, something deeper, and something worth living for.