curlycrowned

[curlycrowned]

On the sweet repose.

It's an old saying that 'there's plenty of time to rest when one is dead.' I absolutely object to this thought. To work like an obedient mare and live like a thoughtless cattle was not what I had in mind when I came upon this: my present situation.

This morning rose lethargic. Having decided on being a regular Oblomov for the day, another one of the many dubious yet ultimately necessary choices I've made this past fortnight, I rose up with the winter collecting in my room. It has been a mostly uneventful day since, a rare exception in the present times, thank you very much!

This past month saw a great change in the conceptions I held dear and in my disposition in general. I've encountered loss and bereavement, the former of a relation most dear to me, snatched from the face of the earth most untimely, while latter from a beloved dear of five years knowing, and it has made me question certain aspects of my life, but more on that in later essays.

We live in a time when idleness is supremely discouraged; never was an empty mind more a devils workshop than present! And yet it behoves us to examine this, for is it not from the state of blankness and pristine clarity of mind that inspirational ideas are born? My present situation, upon which I'm rather timid to expound of, lest some involved in it may find their eyes perusing this, is one of such kind; an unusual, nay peculiar kind which believes in severe exhausting of the mind in a monotonous exercise of learning principles thought to be set in rock.

We were once champions of free reigns to thought and revelled in our readiness to action. I was introduced to ideas and the arts at an early age in life. If anything I took from it that man was not merely to be born and to die and lead a wearisome existence in between. The goal was to excel at living, to make the 'journey' worthwhile.

I find myself joining ranks with a mindless flock of automotons well trained and skilled, but empty in their minds of thought and their hearts of vigour and vitality. I have all but forgotten the notion of rest and I reckon it shall be the end of me. Get busy living or get busy dying is what they say, an extreme of both is perhaps to the fate of this unhappy lot. I long for the sweet release, but sadly I am to remain a gaolbird for the longest period before any hope of my deliverance.