But it must have a meaning.
It would be nice if it did.
Someone should know.
You would think so.
I am sure God knows.
Perhaps he does.
Then why doesn't he say?
Why get involved?
This is not uncommon discussion on the meaning or value of life (or of anything else), as it bogs down in the assumption that the answer lies outside, when in truth it is - and always was - within. And so it is yourself you must ask.
My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
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