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!

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