Perspective

At times the intensity of humans - their exalted joy, their inspiring ideals, their sharpest of sufferings - seems to me as bland and dry as the gray bore of their unawarely deterministic lives, inconsequential to anything outside of this physical system of reactions and particle conglomerates, a boring constant across the infinite expanse of the timeline, unaffected by even our strongest efforts to change it, like the state of the ocean is to the force of its waves.

But when I manage to believe again that the possibility space is true to my perceptions, that the future is a fabric yet uncut, and holds at least two distinct states, and that I am, beyond my bodily capabilities, indeed the maker of decisions, the owner and victim of my future, the changer of the world, the forger of my destiny, then the smile and the awe and the laugh and the frown and the tear and the pain and the strength and the grief and the doubt and the fear and the bliss and the feelings and the will in others and in me feel bright and real again. I then also start caring more about buying orange juice to get enough vitamin C in the mornings.