The question is not “Why am I here?”. It’s “Why are we here?”

Up the tree

Up the tree, watching water fall

What am I doing with my life? These words keep hitting the inside of my skull and I feel just as smart as a pinball machine.
I lived (through) so much…
Is it normal to say this when you’re turning thirty-three?
I dreamt of being many things.
  1. The first one I can recall is being a garbage pickup man.

Truth be told, I was always fascinated by jobs we usually describe as menial.

Hmm, now I can even fancy hearing you mutter:

More of that surreal stuff everyone is tired of.

So was God, apparently (according to Marin Sorescu).

He says Adam started playing the fool in the garden of Eden and (taking after his father in heaven) started making more Eves because he figured out the recipe for creating a woman.

Plenty of ribs to work with.

Turns out God got irritated with Adam and kicked him out of heaven for surrealism.

The women got to stay only a bit longer, but even that little extra time spent in heaven was enough to make them godly creatures. Or so I should say.

Here is my answer to the question “Why am I here?”: You’re asking the wrong question!

The right question is “Why are we here?” And the (long) answer?

We are here to feel something good.

We are here to think about something good.

We are here to say some words about what can be good.

We are here to do something good.

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