Who is this little, this pathetic, this ridiculous boy? They laugh at him, and also weep; for he is humanity, he is the universe. He makes mistakes. He is an egoist. He is imperfect - physically, morally, and mentally. Coffee disagrees with him; injustice causes him anguish; anxiety interrupts his sleep, causing in his dreams falls of cliffs and the all-dreaded thunderstone; his ears ache; his nostrils, always somewhat clogged; sporadic headaches. Nevertheless, he struggles. Why? To avoid the making of mistakes, and to know himself. Let him cry out as he will, let him protest his skepticism ever so loudly, he is at heart, like every other, a believer in perfection. 
Spiritual malaise. Lost connection with nature, with the family. lost connection with the spirit. What is left? The self. Identity. Everyone runs from pain toward pleasure, but when they get there only to find more pain, what happens then? You cannot outrun pain. Because when you're born you are like a single drop of water, flying upward, separated from the one giant consciousness. You get older, you descend back down. You die, land back into the water, become one with the ocean again. No more separated. No more suffering. One consciousness. Death is like a happy return, like coming home.
