A Weird Feeling

It is such a weird feeling to be alive. As I write, I look out my window and see trees, cars, the light of the sun blinding me if I look too high, and I just can’t believe all the beauty that surrounds me. At the same time, I have a hard time understanding the principle of being myself. While this beautiful world exists outside of me without my approval, there’s another world beating like a heart inside of me. They are superimposed over each other and in the end I just don’t know which one is real. And I ask: What is real? Is the tree real, or only the meaning I give to it? I find everything outside of me to be connected in one way or another, but just like if I were unplugged, I can’t reach outside of the tips of my fingers. My body is my limit. My mind has no limits, but I think: Is that another illusion? I cannot touch the stars with my hands even though I can touch them with my mind. And I ask: Do they feel touched when I do so?