It’s the first working day of the week, and my favourite, Monday. A day of hope resolve, limitless possibilities ahead and an invigorating sense of purpose brought about by all that much needed and tiring two day rest preceded by a night, or two, of life threatening partying that somehow didn’t end in alcohol poisoning. What are you making that face for? I’m a hardworking twenty-something year old in a country whose most prolific brand is a beer. My life seems to be in a state somewhere between hopelessness and despair. In other words if I could represent my preferred way of life as a clearly well laid out path in the middle of a wilderness then I’m in the business of wandering into the bush every few paces.
I’ve been ravaged by wolves, trampled by elephants, stung by bees, pricked by cacti, bit by snakes and poisoned by seemingly harmless plants, but still, with the memory of a goldfish and myopia worse than a bat’s, I somehow talk myself into taking a walk back into the wilderness to rediscover it’s non-existent endless beauties. Sadomasochism and fiction-grade stupidity may be a bit harsh but accurate ways to describe this history.
I’m not out here alone, trust me. I see hordes of people all around me, friends, family and previous lovers all trying to make sense of the shopping frenzy in this market of instant gratification. We’re all in the same boat, some holding gold compasses against ever-changing maps and others tagging along on someone else’s ride. I can’t see their faces clearly though, my vision is blurred by the log I put in my eye to prove I could handle much more than a spec. There’s another more putrid group of people here, the fools. They don’t even know they’re lost. They’re comparable to a seeing man born into a dark world to blind parents, the possibility of a life well lived is completely ludicrous to him. He doesn’t even rise to the dignity of existence; he has no struggles and lives completely carefree. They’re achievements in diluting the development of mankind are endless. The worst thing about the fool is not in his foolishness but rather in his ability to comfort the lost. They look at him and instantly feel better, going about their self destruction in relation to his. Sort of reminds me of the story of the rich drunk who believed alcoholism was dictated by how much your drink cost.
I’m currently going through the painful phase of dropping habits and making new ones, I have come to understand that the hallmark of my limitations is my freedom. I am fated and doomed to be free and responsible, I am thrown into this world and forced to struggle and swim. My possibilities are limitless, I can be one of them and in being one, I have for that occasion categorically excluded all the rest. There is ruthless destruction of possibilities on my every decision. Choice has always been the ultimate ground of my anguish, for this I can blame nobody because you too are only trying to swim. No more wasting this freedom on silly choices.
If you pity the fool why then are you living like you envy him?
This article is only partly from my own experiences but its eternal origin lies in that I have confronted a form that wants to become a work of art through me. It is not a figment of my soul but something that appeared to my soul and demanded my soul’s creative power.