A log on the Ocean

I have driven myself to this dead end where I have lost everybody around me. No, I have pushed everybody away because I am oozing evilness. I ran out of love but I desperately need some. And now here I am, alone, in this world built with endless resentment and pain, waiting for forgiveness. But the nature of encounter is separation. As two logs of wood floating on the great ocean, come together and are again separated, even so, creatures come together and are again separated (Mahābhārata 12.174.15). Imagine over the boundless ocean, a log just floats on its own. There is no fish, no life in this cosmic pond. The log has no home no purpose. The log rots.