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Syndel's Spire
Syndel's Spire

My texts (78)
My series (10)




Total kills:

00th 0000


Type:Diary entry
Added:June 15th 2010, 01:27:24
Rating:5/5 (Votes: 1)

I'm long overdue for a rant.

The adaptation of the soul is a curious one indeed. The soul is like a twisting viper, swinging and flailing with ease, then striking at the heart of the matter with pin-point accuracy, and swiftness to rival the best of them. The soul guides the individual in his quest for individualism, and by doing so steers a path gently through the turmoil for the self to bloom and survive. It is ever-lasting within the individual, and ever-persistent in it's goals.

But what of the soul which is forced to sacrifice it's goals for it's needs? Somewhere in time all people go through the crisis which seperates them from their infant wants and desires, forcing upon them the rigors of command, control or loyalty. We are forced into a social world beyond our control, and from the infantile window, stareing at the world as if mutely observing and categorising for understanding, to the hardened soul, who makes accessions to all and learns to live by sacrificing himself.

In short we become slaves to our own existence. Whatever devine god or simple chance which gave us the freedom to be as we are, it is simply the will of the world that such freedoms are immediately constrained through give and take. When you give so much to the world, how can you ever seek to remember what it was you wanted to take from it in the first place? Our evolutionary adaptations give us a glimpse in childhood of what we could be - a hero? A soldier? A diplomat? A king? We fantasise in youth of command or following command, and later we all heed the commands of the infintismal gaia. Nature, destroys all freedoms.

I remember a time when all there was to really fear was the world outside. Now I fear what the world has done to me inside. Dare I worry about my deadened ambition? My lack of inspiration? Feeling having lost something so dear to me before? Am I just not the adventurous person I used to be? Am I just disguising my own fears in pretty language?

Regardless, the problem remains. When one cannot do as one wishes, one settles for the next-best, until the next-best is so far removed from the original wish that it scarcely matters. And so we must draw back from the individual, remove ourselves from what we may have become, just for a little while, and think back to those bad, horrid and terrible times of youth. There is no purpose in lieing, the past is never as good as it appears to be from the present, but we can take solice in the emotions of youth. We should treasure those feelings of openness, of awakeness, of clarity within confusion. They say eduction only teaches you what you don't know, but of age I can tell you it teaches you only how to dull your emotions...

...I sometimes wonder whether anyone else ever thinks about where it's all going to. What it all will mean some forty years from now, when as is likely I will be dead and burried. I wonder if anyone will wonder about the futility of existence, of the slow and steady decline of idealism, replaced with the steadfast stagnant beauty of stability. I wonder why such thoughts come so easily to me, like my unconscious is freely speaking through my fingers, and my cognito is only here to read what I have written. What a curious thing the mind is, to communicate to itself in such a way.

...But then I realise I am nothing new. This is the same earth that was here a million years ago. Nothing I do will ever change it, even changing the people on it. I am no more a god than any man, and my thoughts no more original than the oldest trick in the book. The apathy of age is as eternal as the human race itself, and perhaps would go a long way to explaining the behaviours of mankind as a whole. Perhaps those who would order the bomb, are simply those tired of feeling useless, and desperate to make a change, however small. Perhaps we should pity the tyrant, alone and despondant. The hardest part of knowing you have acheived all you wish in life, is knowing you will die before it is over.

And so once more evolution, once more the big ugly animalistic side of us sprouts forth from the seed of our apathy. We detest our lives, so we detest the lives of others, and so we detest others. The sprout blossoms into violence, as we sait our need for life through death. We, humanity, can no better cope with the stresses of life then animals, and knowing that through the causation, we can sait the beast that cries for an ending we feel we have accomplished something. We fear our own deaths, as one might fear the pain or horror of existence, so we take an almost necessary pleasure from the demise of others. This will never register in the human consciousness, even in the pacifist, but if there is a reason for war it is not in something as trivial as food, space or the continuation of the species, but rather far back in the minds of the generals ordering the men to their deaths, as a cattle driver drives cattle to the slaughterhouse.

In the end all leaders, all warriors and all generals are forced to look back on their world, and ask themselves what exactly they acheived. Some find an answer, others don't, but all when asked will say it was absolutely necessary. There is no such thing as a needless war to the human being, for if we are taught that human life is the most valuable thing of all, then why is so much of it spent on depleteing the overall supply? The secret is not in the world of finance or international diplomacy, but rather lodged between the ears of a man, just like any other, given too much power at too old an age.

No child would ever kill another and beleive it was necessary.

July 05th 2010, 13:20:54
In the end nothing matters, and in 100 years nobody will remember you. However, you can still have some fun on the way. And in fun lies the true meaning. Just enjoy as much as you can, as long as you can. Your days will be over too soon anyway.

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Total Personal Pages: 225 - Total series: 118 - Total texts: 875
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