For over a decade I've driven by an old cemetery and wanted to go in by myself. This Summer, I finally did it. In the middle of the night I drove out and walked up and down the graves. Listening to the owls while trying to make out obelisk engravings long faded. When the humidity finally got to me and I left, I realized, in some ways, it was as if I had just, like any other time, driven by but not gone in. The memories felt as real as a dream or something imagined. In recollection, such things are just as fake. I usually think this makes life as useless as dreams but in this moment I thought that it raised the realness of dreams and fiction so that those memories were just as real as life. Also, I realized that the great gain was the karmic impacts (not in the moral system sense), the knowledge, and the wisdom (to taste) from having that experience. Now I know.

After having a child, the responsibility is eternal. The world is forever shifted and the care for this new consciousness changes the perspective of everything. This reason for living is wholly true and fills an entire self, however it makes me sad when a person's only reason for living (in an existence the person would otherwise not be able to take) is so that their child can... live a good life. However, a good life is defined for many as that which follows the arc and seasons of a human life with children and loving care (the story, the life narrative, the passing of the seasons, and the growing through the seasons of life brings the most personal fulfillment, even though it is just so the next can do the same, survive. This story is very much of this epoch of earth, but so are we humans). A life devoted to anything other than this (or spiritual pursuit) feels superficial, vanity of vanities, all is dust at the foot of the grave. Any glory or accomplishment, found to be useless in time. Any momentary pleasure, any interest or hobby - even art - feels lacking in comparison to the deeper pursuits of connection, and feels like time wasted (The worth of life cannot be in just one thing. It feels that it must be the sum collection of things, to just live for one thing feels wrong). But have generations lived in their minds as sacrifices for their children who in turn sacrifice themselves for their children, so that they can accept their miserable existence if they imagine their child will have a truly good life that they do not need to sacrifice for someone else?

Without earthly responsibility, without responsibility beyond life, you 'live for life.' Dreams impact the waking world, as does the waking world influence dreams, though not in the same way. The continuity of cutting myself separates them, the scar on leg that has been there for years, will continue as long as I have that leg. In dreams, it may be there, it may not be there. With prudence, be aware that you will impact yourself. Being nice to other people makes me feel good, being mean makes me feel bad. (Are we only friendly because it makes us feel good ourselves?) Not 'will this be worth it in death (vanity of vanities)' instead, 'will this be worth it for the rest of my life going forward' - a very real impact.' (An 'enrichment' situation?) The reason to not fly into extreme selfishness (that we all keep in moderation in our varied ways) is because in a selfish way, we don't like how we feel when we are selfish. We must not constantly live for an imagined future that never comes. If we do so and our existence of toil is nothing but misery for a brief wealth in a nursing home, where all such is misery, we would have failed ourselves. Both prudence, and how will it effect you now.

I will now always go by that cemetery with the memory of what it was like. If I had a dream of it I would also remember that but the curiosity of what's inside would remain. The place is now changed and so am I.

I thought something after hearing a Monk talking about going to the Himalayas. I can't remember it clearly nor even put it into words clearly in my mind. The thought drew a line between two kinds of travel. Tourism with images of what you can get out of a place... and the monk experience of going to someplace with the expectation of how it will change you. The physical takebacks of tourism being photos and memories and objects and souvenirs, while the this other experience would bring back a notebook filled with writing.

...has this little trip done this to me?