Why are we here?

The corner of life. Your purpose, my purpose, someone else's purpose. For some, a purpose is easily discovered such as a three-year-old running down a street, football tucked underarm. For others, a purpose may take a lifetime to figure out as they lie at death's doorstep, waiting patiently for him to open the door. A purpose may have no meaning at all for some, almost like words written as answer for a question. There is no true meaning to those penned words. Only that they answer what is asked of whom. There is no right or wrong way to go about it, whether you be a saint preaching vitality, prosperity, and the goodness of life to others, or a law-law-abiding modern citizen with ordinary beliefs and values, or a petty thief spending time locked behind cell doors. Purpose is no prophecy. No "destined fate". No particular road, traveled or less traveled. It is an author before what might become his greatest success or greatest downfall. A blank artist's canvas, void of splatters, splotches, or strokes. A garden before blooming roses. It is either a way of life or a secondary thought. There are no set instructions that must be followed, no map to be studied, no rules meant to obey. Just a belief. A belief. A mantra. A prayer. This "belief" like a handmade piece of confection in the hands of a child, is to be venerated, treasured, treated holy as if it were a deity.