闲人

One kind of existential fear stems from thinking that there is no self, no core, no substance other than the reflection of the expectations of others. Yet, when we scrape away all the responsibilities, all the desires, all the actions that result from being what other people expect us to be, what is left? What would drive a person when he is stripped of the framework provided by the conditions for acceptance set by certain individuals? Maybe the ambivalent scythe of Death.

The cows that contentedly graze in the fields, day by day. Are they merely too simple to comprehend the need for a meaningful life, or are they contentedly aware that they are fulfilling their role just by doing what they do? After all, we survive precisely because our cells perform their function without questioning their purpose. We hear shouts for democracy, shouts from people who are themselves dictators of their own carnal territory, scarcely caring for their citizens save for their own personal gain, and pausing to check only when extended apathy brings damage and rioting.