Ideal
It is my belief that every living thing that is healthy has a love for life itself. How did human society loose it? Did we erect a broad bridge to hell since we feared the inevitable death? Is it our desire to escape from whatever we have? Our failure to realize our own freedom? Is it - in its full consequence - only a result of the problem of cohesion heat? It doesn't matter. We need to go on, attempting to create the image of the ideal world that we bear. We might never reach it, completely. Still we must strife to come as close as possible. We must have the courage to employ the means we have at hands. No matter how much time we've lost, this is what remains to do - regardless if it is to late. Regardless if it was always to late. For we, as persons, are constructions that exist within the ideal room - our images that can be deployed by time, space, or even by reason are faulty and incomplete - all of these are mere projections of ourself, but never the complete thing. Do what you can. For the ideal that you represent is what you are. It is, and it is what will remain - regardless of all boundaries. Because our existence is, in fact, itself an ideal - if we want to live, we have to live up to it.