I personally am not that interested in expressing life as a whole, or giving vent to some philosophy of the whole thing -
Just for myself, I’m interested in the mystery of how -
For example, take two other episodes of my life -
I realise that I shall never know what my whole life means. If others do, of themselves or poor old me, that’s great, and I make no judgment. I know I am ignorant of that sort of totalistic knowing. I don’t have a past. I have an altering cluttered house of stuff which I and especially my family are now drawing upon.
Is’nt that justification enough of the sprawl, the winding labyrinth? No, choose what you like. There is no single Minotaur.