Shapeless

Some days are easy. Some days are hard. Some days are long and others are over too soon.

It happens like that. There is nothing anyone can do, the days pass without us. They will pass with us. They are indifferent, not interested in us. The world does not care about the individual either. We are here and then we are gone. There is nothing binding us to our days; there is no purpose and no destiny. We are free.

People find it hard to face up to their freedom. They need walls they can touch. A room that protects them. A corner to hide in.

This world is too big for us to live in alone. We need something to make us feel a part of something else. We need to feel as though we belong, as though we have a place, and - despite all the overwhelming evidence - that we do matter.

That is why some people have the need to believe in something. A belief - no matter how it contradicts all the evidence - is something to cling to. A belief gives a shape - no matter how distorted - to this shapeless world.

In fact, it often seems that the more contradictory to reality the belief, the stronger the belief itself. A belief in spite of the world, despite the world, in defiance of the world. A sort of delusion of the heroic.