It starts with
sadness. It bows to the words of old Master Yoda. Sadness never comes alone. It’s
a party pooper like the world has never seen. It’s a disease that brings about
a horde of misery and suffering. It beckons in the twilight, creeping out from
the dew from leaves that dropped from their supply line and are left helplessly
defenceless against the cold wind, slowly decaying and becoming a part of the
soil that once nourished them. It reaches out, screaming for attention, when
you struggle to get a grasp of reality and let the dreams that once held entire
scenes of epic battles in your mind slip away into the nether world which
spawned them.
It develops. It
engulfs. It consumes. It comes again.
Like that old friend
from childhood, who’s always needing attention in some way, it reaches out to
touch you, to feel you, to change you. You start spending time together again,
and before you know it it’s now your best friend. It’s always there for you,
comforting, like an old pair of shoes which you’re never going to wear again,
but you can’t get yourself to throw out. You cannot let it go, not when you’re
so close, not when it’s so near to you, not when it requires so little of your
patience and so much of your time you cannot get yourself to disconnect from
it. No, you cannot just break up with it. It’s a mind-consuming and perpetual
thought churning machine. It needs you and you need it.
You’re trapped.
It has you. You’ve
become it’s prisoner. You’re no longer yourself, but a shadow of your nature.
You once gracefully explored and curiously discovered novelties. You linger a
silence which you cannot achieve. You struggle to contain it, but it contains
you. The jam has become the jar, and the jar’s existence is in peril without
the jam. You feel your jam turning bad, but you dare not let it go, you put too
much effort and time into it, you can’t discard it like you cannot discard that
old pair of shoes. It’s too much of you now. You know it’s bad, but it’s a part
of you, can it be that it actually, is you? Is it now the epicenter of your
personality? Is the fragile bond between feelings and person so easily bound
into submission by a thought that grew too powerful? Has the creation overcome
the creator? Can something you create and caress and grow become so powerful
that it overwhelms the very fabric of life that caused its existence?
Can it overthrow the
very establishment that allowed it to be? Can it be so powerful that you no
longer control it, but rather you become the puppet of your own creation? Is
the system of control so flawed that it allows such a tiny speck of dust,
easily lost within countless other brethren which didn’t make it to primetime,
become as powerful as to walk amongst us, and possibly control others?
How do you set your
own control? Where is the line in the desert that you decide not to cross, when
you’re the only one who can put it there? If you control all your thoughts and
feelings, is it not a thought that controls your thoughts? Is democracy among
thoughts a concept that stands it’s ground? Are you at any time in control of
anything? Are a million questions left unanswered an answer in themselves? At
what point does a creation become original? What creates an original thought?
What starts the spark that ignites all the chemicals needed to create something
new? Is a creation of something new something different than just an
improvement of an existing thought, an upgrade of an idea from information to
construction? If a mind is such a fertile ground of various thoughts that go
rampant within a boundary so unclearly defined as camping is in online games,
how can something ever be convincing enough to make it to the upper layers of
the mind, start directing other thoughts and start wreaking havoc on the existing
brainwaves that have existed peacefully until that moment?
But it’s not all
dungeons and doom. There’s a bright side to everything the mind touches. For
the deepest darkness can sometimes spark the brightest light. And that light
can ignite the imagination of an entire generation, and that light can shine
through time, into eternity, forever bound to inspiring others to strive for
more. But forever and eternity do not go hand in hand with humanity. Our
purpose is not to live forever, we do not exist timelessly and our creations
and ideas are doomed to be lost with our species. Our system will crumble with
our sun expanding into a fiery red doom, our galaxy will collide with another
galaxy and our existence is due to be forgotten and lost into the vast
nothingness of space. But all is not lost, for beauty can be temporary. Creations
can sparkle and die like comets lighting up a summer’s night sky, shining a
brief moment of beauty and then fading into a beautiful nothingness.
And in this
apocalyptic doomsday prophecy of temporary existence and beauty, do our
thoughts really matter that much? Is desire a thought so powerful as to
transcend this spiral of mortality? Is a spark of chemicals running in our
brain as wonderful as our minds want it to think it is? Does anything we can
produce in our tiny carbon based brains relevant in the greater scheme of
things? Is our creation so precious to the Universe as it is to our sense of
self? Are we not just empowering our own skull babies with hopes and ambitions
governed by our fears of our own mortality and destruction, and thus creating a
false importance in our own little personal world, behind our little glass
screens of protection from the sentiment that we in true nature are all just
beasts that think highly of ourselves? Plants feel pain, and whales act
selflessly and apparently we are the only intelligent species on this rock hurling
through space following a small sized star on a voyage of unknown reasons?
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