There is no point to life, nor of itself,
for it knows not its direction,
where it is going,
nor where it has come from.
It cannot move from where it is,
yet it never stands still;
It is a strange thing,
this unfolding process
that neither stand still
nor goes anywhere
nor abides in random togetherness.
Yet, we who call ourselves humans remain
deluded in giving a point to the pointless,
who sing a song of purpose
while playing second fiddle in an orchestra without a conductor.
There is no point to existence,
no purpose in abstracting something
to what cannot lead anywhere
nor abide where it is.
There is a relief to all of this,
for it dissolves the pressure to be here and now
or to use the here and now
to get somewhere else that is not here and now.
There is no point to being here
and there is no point to being anywhere else,
no wonder there is only time to dance!