The Importance of Rituals

I’ve come to realise that I need my rituals.

The stupid, inconsequential little passings of time that add up to a life and a personality. Filling in my five-year question-a-day diary. Slow writing. Browsing a thesaurus. Making lists. Crunching up words I like and putting them back together for fun. Without these things I’m just a brain driving a body. Breathe in, breathe out, eat, sleep, cough.

The most pointless rituals are what fight the ever-present elephant in the room: that life itself is pointless. You could see rituals as a shallow distraction from the bigger picture, but I have a real problem with this Bigger Picture. It renders every part of you obsolete and desperate and needless, because what could be less important than a single insect crawling on the face of a single planet in the vast empty nothingness that exists within the limited sphere of human comprehension?

So, have your tea. Watch your soap at 7pm. There is no meaning but this. Our rituals are all we have of ourselves, and everything else is darkness.

Am I right? Tell me!

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