Exodus from the Angst Filled Mind

I caught her one last time and her slender frame and auburn hair were sitting in the autumn sunlight and I can almost dare say “beautiful.” I fall in love too easily, goodness.

The day was fresh, new, vibrant, all the damn adjectives, and I felt myself drifting away from the depths of my mind and I, for a moment, did not mind. I was falling into an ease, my consciousness, that bloody thing.

What folly is this? Has the trenchman of the mind lost his focus? Why do you so direly wish to escape your pursuit? It is imperative you remain attached to your search, you are falling into those who you despise most! You know your heart so dearly wishes to find something to latch on to, even though you know it is poison. Bloody poison! Idols are nothing but evil, for they corrupt the independence of a man, they corrupt his vision, his freedom (if such a thing exists I am still yet to determine). Us foul creatures cannot help but look up to something, if only I knew why we can never appreciate what we have here.

Perhaps that is the cause of all misery, our need to look upward. It is a dangerous perilous thing we aim ourselves at, that something greater just out of our reach, beyond us. We have no capacities to hold those blessings which await in the heavens, we have not even the slightest bit of good about us, and we are wretched and ungrateful beyond a doubt for what is here in the now. But still we stretch, and that is the curious mystery of man. We are forever in pursuit of that which is beyond us, failing to focus on ourselves, us who are here alone, the gods of our own Being. If only our outstretched hands were in a reflection! How great can we be then? Oh but abstractions and hope are themselves in the clouds which I detest. I will never not be a contradiction.

I don’t like to waste time and hold hope too tightly, for that is a dangerous distraction from what is. There is only now and the future and the past are illusions that we mistake as the keys to immortality. What if man was to see now as genuinely now? What if Being in the moment was actually taken seriously? We are only men, though, how are we to ever take anything seriously and gravely. Man lives in a crisis of blindness.