The verbal trundling of poets, the tears of the melancholy, the sighs of the misnderstood, these are the expressions of the infinite. Emerging like a gargantuan fetus from the uterus pushing to be born, these truths barely fit through our mouths upon exiting the soul. When they do exit, we fall into incomplete acts of expression like the aforementioned ones, because though we are connected with a source of ideas, that being eternity, we cannot make it fit the words and actions at our disposal, and therefore expressing rhem does not give the normal satisfaction.

Pain or suffering is not an abyss in itself, the infinitude that it brings is, one that is the proof of the profound depth of our souls. It is an expanse of such a proportion, it is only comparable to the divine. Those who have suffered with a deep heart have experienced infinity in a way that most cannot understand, it being a channel that our souls must never lose.

Unfortunately, the cynicism of modernity is a greater threat to the depth of the soul than any amount of senseless suffering. The stress, the pressure to be in better standing, the eternal lack of peace, the constant comparisons, the ubiquitousness of easy stimulation, the structure of our time, the lack of meaningĀ  in our relationships, the reduction of our things to their mere convenience all make life seems like a game with built-in limits rather than an endless sandbox of thoughts, ideas and sentiments. And yet I do not deny that this compartmentalizing makes our modern lives better in a lot of ways, but we have lost our connection to the immeasurable, the thing that gives our minds an unquenchable thirst and an ever-raging fire within us.

Now, our experts only understand the principles of matter, which change like the tides as our resolution of observation increases, but not of the eternal, the simple unanswered questions within our soul, that push us lovingly to look at the outside, to observe what is being shown to us, and we are fully obliging receivers in this state. Except in modernity, we are constantly yearning for emission, of our truths which are wrapped in a thousand layers of irony, dissembling and conceit, and yet that one inexpressible truth of eternity makes all our worries and expression look petty and lame.

A petty and lame island off the coast of a world teeming with expansion and knowledge.

How can something like infinity be lost, when it should be impossible to even grasp it?