the dark room

Mao was in a dark room searching desperately for nothingness, but kept finding something all the time. Desperately he clutched on to the object and then threw it far away so he may not find it again. He was trying to find something that would finally make him complete, and he knew it lay all around him. but his finding other things only made him cry and be sorry for his humanness.
Weeping and brawling, he did not know why he was doing what he was doing, but kept faith that it must have a cause since it had an effect. Both his laugh and his cry left him breathless, dying a slow death. Then he found it. By not finding it. And instantly he knew he had fallen into the madness of the opposites.
But at that instant, he saw it. He was his beleifs. And without them, he was naked and unconscious. Without his beliefs, he was an animal who suffocated in his animalness, and died a slow death. He knew he had just experienced the look of existentialism- and wondered if there could be alternate realities to his truth-even while he was flummoxed at the crow.
To himself, he was completely satiated, and did not want to find it. He had more pressing issues next. What must he do next, he thought silently and to himself. The search is the path . And reaching is starting all over again to start a new tangential circle. To complete the infinite.
And then he knew it. He must start again, he thought. And reach where he began. Only to start again, a new journey . And this time, with patience, for he already knew where he will end.