Paths

To quote Albert Camus : ''There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide.''

Indulge me as I provide my attempt at answering-

Paths;

Paths are all there is.

Do you wish to walk down a path, to see what happens, what and who is out there?

Or do you wish to stop?

For the path is life, and stopping is suicide.

At any point along the path one unconsciously feels the fatality of that choice, that heavy Damocles sword hovering just above. All it takes is one decision, for the path to vanish, for everything to end, for the sword to fall.

Yet how worse would it be, to walk along the path no longer? After all, one has seen all there is to see. The sky above and its clouds, the blinding sun, the mountains, the leaf the tree the forest, waters unending, majestic birds and seaguls, houses and shitholes, friends strangers close family and sworn enemies...

Shadows of branches on the street, casted by streetlights in the dead of night. And as always, a path : this time, the road. Another time, a goal. And another, a project, or simple curiosity.

No matter what, life can be distilled down to its very core essence : a path to follow.

Therefore the age old question of ''suicide'', of ''is life worth living?'' can be contextualized quite neatly with the path imagery. Do you wish to go down a path? Or is the path too much for you, overwhelming, or boring, unsatisfying? And perhaps any other paths feel the same to you, mere sightseeing, distractions, as you walk forward, as always.

Going through the motions. Pushed by the wind, at the mercy of the waves-

Since there is no actual purpose in walking the path, one must find meaning, enjoyment, motivation, to keep on walking the path. Be it fear of having no more path to thread - Death - or Love, wishing the path to go on forever...

Perhaps the mere fact of the path existing, and you yourself existing, is enough justification to walk upon it?

To live twenty years or eighty, what difference really? Since paths may vary, yet inevitably, they are all paths.

How many of us, billions of poeople, aren't even aware of the path they walk upon? Aren't even aware of themselves even?

Innumerable souls, all led along the path of the many, the herd, safety in numbers. ''Surely everyone cannot be wrong...'' All, strolling along with shared confidence, bolstered by the sheer number of the faithful.

This doesnt's only apply to religions, but to cultures as well, to ways of thinking. Take the one amongst many, anywhere in the world. Isolate him, and inspect him. You'll soon notice that far from a true individual, the one is merely the result of the many, of its environment! The people around him, the circumstances, the beliefs... All forced upon him, without a second thought.

As we all know children are sponges for knowledge, they learn from observing, innate curiosity. So they mimic the example of those around them : family, friends, and the way strangers act as well. How the world surrounding them is, be it a jungle of concrete, highways, buildings and infrastructures, or rural fields, crops over the horizon, nature.

Everything, and I mean everything, nudges, pushes, shoves the individual along paths, to the helplessness of the one. A father hoping for a worthy heir to the family business, a mother starved for love, dreadfully afraid of separation, friends throwing away their future for the fun and pleasures of the NOW.

The pebble;

Anyone of us is much akin to a pebble in a riverbed, tossed about by the current and shaped by its unrelenting flow. Through the years the pebble is shaped accordingly, yet the pebble never had a say in the matter. Unless it is picked up from there, lodged from there by chance or by pure willpower, the pebble (that is the one) is bound to erode away and lose itself, becoming mere sediment in the water, that accumulate in layers and become stone again, through time to become a pebble once more, forever more.

What a bleak, cynical outlook on life.

Why won't the one, the pebble, the individual, break free from the flow, from the herd, from the common path, to embark on its own path, the path of the self, the emancipated path, the path of freedom;

The pebble turns out to be an opal, and becomes the heirloom of a powerful clan, their pride jewel. The pebble actually turns out to be perfect for tool-making. The pebble is obsidian, its flakes deadly razords... The pebble is so much more than a mere pebble, its potential is infinite, if only the one sets out for its own path at once.

To carve one's path, and seize every moment is enough for me, despite wavering interest, despite doubts.

I shall walk down the path of my own making, whistling as I do so, leaving behind crumbs of my mind, traces of myself, writings of my soul, and inevitably stop one day, either from exhaustion or from sheer boredom, from accomplishment perhaps of my lifelong dream. Blissful for having dared live life of my own accord, my way, aware yes of it all. To quote my favourite russian novelist Dostoevsky : ''To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's''

And brazenly living life at the fullest, until at last the path falters;

Even then, I'll gladly embrace the loss of the path.

Salvation from the path.

No longer bound to a will and a path : Solace at last!