Extravagance in the service of an idea

I miss the state of grace when everything means something, has significance.

Not to say that I have to know what everything means, but that there's enough significance in the possibility of something meaning something, even if what something means remains a mystery.

I'm liable to cry now at the sight of the slightest human suffering, during the sounds made at the opening movement of a symphony, or the scenes between the parents and their three boys in the movie, "Tree of Life."

I can't help being a fool, can you?

I'm pretty sure being a fool is the way to go, from this point forward.

Your life is supposed to make you happy, isn't it?

From now on I vow to find the places in my heart that make me more loving.

And to couple this idea with the realization that at this stage of life I am far more interesting to myself then you are to me.