I cannot write more than a few words any longer before the old feeling that all is in vain surfaces again. Worse, I cannot even imagine writing more than a few words at a time, because this feeling of being in vain does not appear to be a passing fancy. It sticks to me like a shrinking skin. The trouble is that I do not feel any wiser for it. On the contrary: I feel increasingly dumb and dull, increasingly unable to understand, let alone explain, this fall and this abyss.

Addendum I (December 18, 2014)

Reading this lament after so many years, I cannot but smile at the word “feeling” that underlies it. Back then I merely felt that all was in vain, but now I know that this is how things stand. Whence the smile. Knowing versus feeling. For better or worse, now I have a much clearer understanding of my writing. I am writing to myself, for crying out loud! As I keep falling into the same old abyss, I am communicating with myself at least. And that is all there is to it. This fall is a long, long one. And this abyss is a deep, deep one. But here I am again with a few words that may give me some solace so many years from now. Free fall forever…

Addendum II (January 17, 2017)

All is in vain, indeed. And not only for my own self. The entire human species is in free fall, most likely forever. If there is any chance for it, it belongs to evolution, which takes millions of years to get anywhere. My writings are for my own comfort while I am still around and about. Luckily for me, it is a question of a couple of decades at most. But it is not only my writings that give me comfort, I hasten to add. The gaps between them are ever more important to me, as well. And they are growing at a clip. Abandoning thought at will for as long as I wish is the name of the game (“No-Bullshit Enlightenment,” January 18, 2016). Ever since my liberation early last year, I relish my silences even more than my writings. One more time, I am delighted by the dates that go with the titles of my pieces of writing. And the missing dates delight me the most. This abyss incarnate.

Addendum III (April 7, 2020)

When this piece was written, I was forty-six years of age. And I will be seventy-four in ten short days. Amazingly, nothing much has changed in my outlook over these twenty-eight years. Although I am convinced that life has no meaning, I am ploughing along with a smile on my face. For I have managed to give meaning to my own life (“A Bon Koan,” February 16, 2013). I call it liberation (“On Liberation,” October 4, 2017). In spite of this abyss that is staring at me all the while, depression is not my thing (“The Incongruity.” January 3, 2019). Far from it. And this is how things will remain till my last day. Cheerfulness, contentedness, and vivaciousness will follow me all the way, I dare claim well in advance. Always within my easy reach, my Residua offers me all the meaning I require of life. Whenever I wish, I can meet myself at various points in time, and communicate with myself for as long as I wish. And this addendum is my proof. Alas, depression is for those that have missed my koan or failed to come to grips with it to their full advantage! My sincere condolences all around.