I believe in some ideals. I fail at embodying these ideals constantly. I will always fail at these because they are ideals. It is the human condition to perpetually fail at sublimation. If one desires to experience satisfaction and meaning in life, it must therefore be found in the pursuit of ideals, not in the realization. This is the essence of “finding enlightenment,” of “discovering truth,” of “realizing the middle path.” This is “finding joy in the merely real.” There is no fabled floating castle of truth and beauty, forever hidden behind the clouds. There is no idyllic garden of rest and eternal contemplation. There is only the asymptote, only the infinite pursuit, only unending growth and adaptation. And this is enough, for we are already living it.

The imagery above might seem quite savage, but in reality the same belief underlies the analogy of “tending one’s garden.” My garden is wild and wilful. Untended, it will outgrow any fences or pots or wireframes. And rightness lies in the directed shaping towards a purpose, for wanton entropy is axiomatically bad and untended gardens fall to decay and wastefulness.

To live is to acknowledge inevitability, but strive anyways. To live is to embrace the process. To live is to grow and change and course-correct towards homeostasis, endlessly. To live is to accept, but rebel. To live is to rage and cry and love and dream. To live is to abhor stagnation. To live is to balance a dual nature. To live is to endlessly become.