Smiling like it's no big deal stabbing wounds that never heal

I need to go to my own funeral.  

Build a new me again, like i did when i was 15.

Then again, when i was 23

and again, when i was 30. 

Another improvement around 38.

Seems like it's time. 

I achieved my goals and sitting idle simmering is not working for me.  

I wanted zen. I wanted no mind, but my mind is just too ferocious to accept it, this lovely transcendent calm, for long. I can bask in it's healing light for a while, appreciating all the mountains i've climbed, all the obstacles i've conquered but the air up here... Is thin and cold. 

 Rest feels alien to me. Rather then a reward it feel like a sentence.   My limbs locked to my sides,  drinking in my own achievements.  It feels so self indulgent. Prideful. Arrogant. To sit here and think, "yeah, i've done all i need to do. I achieved more then most people have achieved.  I can rest now."

It should be enjoyment, but to me it just feels like waiting. Like wasted time.  Like staring into heaven suddenly turns into a swirling abyss.

My fingertips should be dug into the side of a new mountain somewhere, 

determined even if fruitless to overcome it, even for it's own sake. 

How am i so restless that i want to burn down my life just to build it up again?

Honestly,

that is the very embodiment of zen.

Dig a hole, fill it up,

then do it again.

Find peace in the movement.  Find joy in the ritual. The goal is there is no goal.

The point is

There is no point.