And so - a turn of phrase.

Footsteps outside my door - footsteps, or is it the neighbor next door climbing noisily down the stairs, or the wind against the glass, or merely my own imaginings?

The search for meaning seems to preclude that there must be meaning, which seems to preclude a God. Or meaning, as a purely human construct, is simply a distraction, a waste of time. Meaning is only a fever dream.

Meaning, or justification, and the subtle difference between the two. Does inherent justification necessitate God? Can self-created justification be enough? Can I find peace in what I make for myself? Religion, it seems, gives us a path. Lantern-lit, illuminated, straight and undeviating. Without it, those Christians or Muslims or Jews presuppose, we wander aimlessly in darkness, searching for, but never finding, the true and brilliant purpose.
So first - is there a path that must be found? If so, can we reconcile living without it?
And next - if there is no greater goal that we should be pursuing, would our own individual aims suffice? Even without religion, are there somehow inherent oughts?
If to all of this the answer is no, how do we make sense of a world with no set path and no set necessaries? In this world, it seems the only thing we are bound by (and freed by) is our own obligatory choice.

But is this not difficult to come to terms with? Our world, once dizzy with musts and shoulds, with the judgments for those that did not, with the endless cycle of guilt and reward, has come to be nothing but a hollow shell. The outside, the socially-imposed meanings and demands, when cracked reveals nothingness, empty space, and negation. Our being, it would seem, is an end to itself.

The cross, and what it implicates - complete and total submission to will.

The rain in the headlights, how the breeze has turned cold and leaden. Late into the night, as my window shudders, it is as if a shadow had crept into the corner of my room and fallen asleep. Just taking a breath, just a draught of air, transforms you. What is there now to accomplish - was this what Mayakovsky whispered to himself, head in hands, as the greying night grew more and more oppresive?

How my body shivers and how I exhale hurriedly, as if that breath was an exclamation. My skin is homesick for warmth. I wonder if the slap of horseshoes against the pavement was the same as cars outside my window, quiet, modern, customary. It was expected and ignored, an easy assumption.

Impartiality - or lack thereof. The importance of preconceived judgments.

"Perhaps we underestimate the necessity of suffering..." The necessity? The necessary and the must, the have-to's, the chains that we feel bound by, twisted within, so that our escape is inconceivable. There are no necessaries - only choice after choice after choice. We have no one to blame, if we find ourselves in chains without a lock, but ourselves.

That is the responsibility which cannot be faced - that I have no responsibilities but that which I make for myself. Startling how many willingly close the door and leave the key on the wall.

Self-validation, and the gulf which seperates us.