There is no meaning save the sense that we create out of the wake of a personal disaster.
Freedom is a construct that is ultimately defined by how much you love the walls that surround you.
Love comes and goes and glimmers and fades and dies and revives itself each and every single day. It is as common as a pheromone yet it can utterly define your existence.
In the end, you will never get over ‘it’. Some wounds just never heal. You just learn how to grow around the hole like how a tree grows around cold steel. Whatever ‘it’ is, ‘it’ will change you until you learn how to live with those changes. Otherwise, ‘it’ will be forgotten forever in a smear of memory, as indistinct as a clear, blue sky.
Some dreams need to be chased down and interrogated until they spill their nonsense all over the mud until the mind is caked in starstuff and pixie dust. Sometimes, that is the only way to get at the truth. After every crazy concept has been jettisoned out of your subconscious, there will finally be some room to think clearly. All dojos require regular sweeping.
These are the self-same ponderings of a waking mind, too overblown with the tragic happenings of the everyday to contemplate the causal relationships of suffering. There is no longer any safety in logic. There is no such thing as safety.