Often the mind is simply – well , Bored - and it finds the need to do something, lest it be overrun by ungainly thoughts and the sharp methodical slicing of fear, concerning events that, in most probability, may never occur.
Such is the case now, and here I sit, trying almost whole heartedly, to make some meaningful use of this blessed time of peace.
Surrounded by a chattering set of non-gifted people, who raise voices in a crass mockery of power, one often wonders why, just why?
Why do people tend to have an over-glorified sense of their selves?
Why do people take what doesn’t belong to them?
And why are they inclined to appear stupid, with each passing attempt to assuage others of their own intelligence?
I can produce no answers to such questions, and I vaguely hear my own mind mocking me in the Voice of God.
“Do not ask such questions of me, for even Miracles cannot bring you what you seek here.”
I can do little more than sigh and grace myself with a sardonic smile.
Truer words have never been spoken.
It is in such an environment, I suddenly find that for a very brief moment, my mind is thinking of nothing. Absolutely nothing; not even deigning to decipher the cacophony outside the window.
Simply hearing, not processing. Seeing and not looking.
And it is peace, and chaos in one.
Peace because for that moment, I am one with the immobile furniture, the walls, and the very ground; of course making the arrogant assumption that they process nothing more than nothing.
Chaos because it is a state that the mind, neither the body is accustomed to being, and panic briefly ensues once the moment has passed.
I believe the panic another brief moment when the mind asks itself first, “Am I still alive?”
Pointless as this essay seems, I have to agree that something born of pointlessness is probably, just that.
Albeit, it has given good exercise in rehashing vocabulary and the opportunity to sound even vaguely philosophical; not entirely pointless, in essence.
Perhaps it is time to close this digression and attempt finding more interesting things to do, but sadly, I find that in my eyes, writing this is rather more interesting than most other things expected of me.
It often feels like employment is but a way to smother unrequited desires in choice of the same, as long as possible, to avoid the torturous resurfacing of all that “could have been.”
Indeed, it feels that way.
A storm brewing within, that can be suppressed in as much as the daytime. Nothing is guaranteed to remain repressed while the mind is otherwise unoccupied, leading to such dreams as to leave the soul thirsting, or nightmares that leave the mind unwilling to let itself drift.
In our dreams, we are never free, and I once again arrogantly assume that in that brief moment, we are as close to death as the alive can hope, without truly getting there. In our death, I think we will be free; if not of anything, of our mortal obligations, insufficiencies and things equally vile.
Therefore, in that brief moment, before the mind has to ascertain that it is still alive, we are free. It is that taste of freedom, barely at the tip of our tongues, so to speak, that leave us longing for the day we die, consciously, or unconsciously, repeatedly or sparsely, longingly or reluctantly.
We all long for death. It is only a matter of time that it will be handed to us. But in the meanwhile, we can hope to attain such peace, in elongated moments till the occasion, where can join the gratefully, living dead.
