the heavy weight of Being

In this strange phenomenon called life, looking out through these biological eyes I see the world filled with a desperate and disinterested race to associate. This thing, that man, this organization, that ideal. Yet it is all in the hopes of fulfilling a maddening desire to rid the self of suffering. What am I in relation to God and does she share the place of privilege which I feel I've gained? I am built of contrivances and am tired of this sickening game. The recognition of this is what sends the man I love to a world far, far away. He cries to me, that this love is a crime against the existence of all things for to prefer one over another is an attachment to be cleansed. Yet here I am, I've followed him as best as I know how and I've always known that one day he'd flee, not out of a lack of love but for the pursuit of another ideal, enlightened Being.