I spent so many evening hours, outside, on my rocking chair, looking at the stars and wondering what might be happening
up there. I imagined different species living on those worlds building strange cities. I imagined some of them
traveling between the stars in incredible spaceships.

I was a dreamer and I wondered why I was here. Was there a reason for coming to this dangerous world where I was
going to grow old and die?

Was I here in transition between two places, unable to remember neither where I came from nor where I was going?

Or could it be that I was a new creation?

I read about Hinduism and the possibility of reincarnation.

The universe is so big! What are those formations the astrologists found so far away that their light took hundreds of
millions of years just to reach us. They calculated that the strange formations were more than 200 million light years in size
and possibly only parts of even bigger things.

Formations made out of thousands of galaxies!

The size of the universe is so big that it is impossible to imagine; it might be infinite.

Then what is my significance? I am just a tiny unit of a species that hasn’t even yet spread out to the neighboring stars.

What if I am God? I mean just a tiny part of Him!

What if all the animals, insects and plants are part of God? All the planets, the stars…

If I am God or a part of Him, I could possibly connect with the infinitely bigger part of Me and get some of my wishes to
come through. Maybe anyone can get what anyone wants if one thinks about it often and tries to make his wishes come
through.

Perhaps one can make miracles happen.

Perhaps one can get help form one’s infinitely bigger part of one, God, if one asks for it often and tries to be worthy of help?

What is my mission here if I have one? What should I do that would make my existence
Worthy?

                                                                   I have so many questions.

                                                                           ......................

Once I went for a long trek in the woods North of Montreal. It was winter and I was traveling on my skis opening a new trail.
I knew that if I had an accident breaking a leg or an ankle, I would die for it was very cold and no one would find me.

But I didn’t mind taking the risk; the reward was peace, quiet wilderness, and the feeling that something important might
happen.

I had traveled for two hours when I reached the tall trees. They were huge, bigger than any tree I had seen and there was
nothing between them, no bushes, no grass and no snow, just bare, hard packed dirt. I took off my skis and started to walk
inside that forest. It looked like a cathedral of enormous pillars with a canopy so far up that I couldn’t see if the canopy was
made up of leaves.

There was silence, no wind but I sensed the presence of mighty minds; it was like the trees were sentient beings watching
me, trying to communicate with me.

Here I knew that I would finally find the answers to all my questions, I just had to listen to the trees and I would eventualy be
able to communicate with them. I just had to ask the questions.

But as hard as I was trying, I couldn’t find the questions. I lost track of what I did there; I can’t remember anything. I found
my skis where I had left them; an hour had passed since I entered that forest of tall trees.  I felt no desire to walk back in
between them, so I put on my skis and returned to the Benedictine monastery where I had parked my car.

Strange isn’t it? Is it true or did I dream that? Probably just a dream!

When I paint though, I try to branch on that bigger part of me if there is one and I ask for help to produce the most amazing
painting. I don’t know on what I am branching, but I do connect on something for I can feel that my brain is sowly enhanced
and I am receiving new energy; and then I let go; I try to abandon myself to those forces and just do it in a
spontaneous way.

The result is often surprising and I look at some of my paintings in wonder, not believing that I did them; not remembering
how I did them; and I look at them with the conviction that I did not have the talent to make them. Then I thank whoever
from that superior world has helped me wondering if that whoever is an angel or a deceased friend, perhaps God?
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                                                                                               Richard Riverin short story  "Purpose of life"