Shantih shantih shantih
2002-04-07 || 6:41 p.m.

Sometimes I just get this immense feeling of how small and tiny and insignificant I am. Its like that Chinese proverb; something about why should God care about you because you are not even the flap of a butterfly wing in the story of time.

Originally I was going to write something about synchronicity and how it supports my theory of fiction but then I listened to some music and just felt overwhelmed. It sounds really silly and up myself but it was bigger than me.

I then thought about how fiction and music can be connected. This is about the sounds of music and the words in fiction and the emotions and thoughts they convey. I just had in my head that part in Mrs Dalloway when Mrs Dalloway is walking and suddenly everything dissolves and she becomes aware that one day everything will be gone. This is why I love the modernist writers.

The Wasteland is like that too. Its fragmented, yet whole.

One day I will be gone but will I cease to exist? I find it hard to imagine that all the thoughts and feelings and moments like I just had can cease to be but that could just be ego.

I don't feel sad when I think that one day I will be gone and maybe even my awareness - conscious and subconscious will also be gone. I just feel emotionless. As if it doesn't really matter at all and that is right and how it should be.

Does anyone else understand this?