I don’t understand anything. I don’t understand this computer screen or that flower. Or the how my hair grows right down to the atomic level, and beyond that, or why it grows. I don’t even know my own hand, or understand my own thoughts. I really don’t have a clue about anything at all. Even though I think I know things, I don’t know the meaning of anything. All my understandings are assumptions. Everything that has meaning to me, I have given meaning. Those same things could be completely neutral or have opposite meanings to other people. Everything I have feelings about, I MADE those feelings. It is all made up. I am creating everything, and at the same time I don’t understand any of it. In a sense, realising this means that I am free. Some of my thoughts may be powerful, but regardless, they are all meaningless. So what does any of it matter? I can just smile and think, “oh, there those thoughts go again, thinking they’re so important.” Nope. Just meaningless.

Only Love is meaningful. Everything outside of Love is just fantasy. Amusements. Filler.