Once I read a book that was about goodness, evil, God, miracles and stuff like that.
It was really a beautiful book. I tried to really experience and get into the book. But I'm a quite dark person and the good qualities of the book didn't really have any impact on me. Nevertheless the book was beautiful as hell.
Perhaps I can't picture myself as part of magicians and Gods...
The book also discussed the other that we should try to free us from. The other is bad and stops us from living fully. I also thought about this. Perhaps the other was such a strong part of me that the authentic me couldn't get out. Perhaps it had never even been out in the sunligth. How could I lure it out? How would I reconize it? Who or what was it?
Was I the other, the evil other?

In another book I read that hope is the only way of getting through life, alive. The book also said that the majority of people live only because they are afraid of dying.
Well, at least one doesn't have to be afraid alone...but on the other hand everybody lives alone and also dies alone. That's terribly scary if one doesn't really cope with her/himself.
I often had a quite unreal feeling, as I'd be some kind of a nice ghost wandering about by myself on this planet. Seemingly social and normal.
I even considered starting to believe in God, but I didn't because I knew it wouldn't work.

I felt cold and emotionless.

Then one day a man gave me a letter on a bus. He thought I was different.
He had been watching me for many hours.
He thought I was wasting my life on nonsence. I should focus on developing my extarordinary talents.
I laughed at all of it. Because I was afraid.
Later I started believing in this.
I thought that I finally became someone. That finally my life had a purpose.
That The UFO's would come and bring me home.

Well, of course they didn't come. Perhaps I was to restless and weird for them aswell.

Real thing bored me more and more. I read quite much about supernatural phenomena and magic. It was exiting. I felt goosebumps and felt alive.

haha

But all these stories were also made by man. Always someone comes up with something.
That disturbed me.
I wanted to discover, realize and come up with things myself.

So nature was the only place that worked for me, when I couldn't get out into space.
And thinking of it I'm not sure if I had dared to go there after all.
I thought that plants and animals knew what and whom they were. They had their roots strictly in the ground.
I tried to talk to squirrels and crows and I believe we found some sort of an understanding.
That was beautiful and calming.