The incongruent human mind understands only that which comes to it in a format prescribed under pre-conditioned substance. Although, cerebral material compensates for the lack of reflection and subconscious dreaming, the growing distance between human reception and perception augments the dangerous grounds on which we stand.
The simple act of writing this piece, where I could have written another, perhaps even a hundred more, provides the material proof that the subconscious suffering/pleasure rolls the dice for the living conditions. The reality in which I gather evidence is crowded with vagrant themes, percolating hopelessness, and a continued streak of finding oneself stuck.
Now, with what I understand otherwise, I could take action. Or as one could also do, remain focused on the cause of the events, which manifest themselves thus. The slow movement of life, the gaudy tiredness, the fear of overhaul, and if not forgotten, the loss of casual memory. Upon serious consideration, the dire stress of the situation rises from the permitted self-deprecation – a shunning away of the human confidence to corners of the untended mind. For I know that one could pass their life in slumber with minimal interference.
There is little pleasure in knowing about the future even. What could result in if the present reeks with sullen events? In the end, the future is but a carefully drafted conglomeration of events of one’s own liking. The control over such events has little bounds, if the human knows of her limitations. So, continued living in the present remains the far-fetched solution to the immediate problem.
I must cease to write for the fear that I will reveal too much. Nor should I depend too much on writing. After all, writing is another act that could gather rust and present itself as another challenge to be overcome. We are capable of that – converting all things given as blessing into a right, into an immature demand. Like I have done often times in my sickness of mind.
The night brings slowness back as I stretch my arms and legs in askance expanse. Little has been gained against a dramatic loss of perseverance. Not knowing what another day will bring, I kneel down in humble reverence to whoever listens to the cries of forlorn beings. Ask and you shall receive.
Only a prayer comes out.