The Sheer Airiness of Meaninglessness
The emerging sunlight promises to come gradually, and then blasts full on, literally, like a spotlight shining suddenly into the calmness of his developing dream. Shucks, he had forgotten to close the window curtains – or did he leave it open on intention, to receive the benign effects of last night's moon glow?
Oh yes, another day, another promise of new things beginning. Or is it? What used to be the thing that made him want to jump out of bed and look forward to the possibilities of a new day, had just, well become, just mere possibilities.
His optimism had been progressively whittled by the cumulative acts of an uncaring culture, bred and nurtured by selfishness, the inability of most to see beyond the confines of their narrow thinking and the provincialism of a few go-getters who did not realise that they could not flex their perceived might beyond their little pond of existence.
He observed that most others had withdrawn into a kind of so-called protective shell in a knee-jerk reaction to an existence not offering growth beyond what they had already reached. Their resulting reduced expectations were perhaps a consequence not so much from a numbness that decided not to fight anymore, but to lie low and wait out the time they had been most probably given. Meanwhile the few controlled the many; the foolish could not recognize the wise and the superior did not acknowledge their inferiority and fear.
His routine became unbearable, the organized became oppressive. He searched for meaning to rediscover his motivation, but meaning became lost in the mundane, the necessary and the required. He began to see repetition, things copied in distractions, diversions and in the regimen of life. He tried to break free, but saw certain patterns, of maybe being used at times, of definitely being used on other occasions. He heard accounts of how wealth does not guarantee happiness, of how power can drive some to delusion and of how reaching out to others can lead to abandonment. What was the meaning of all this? It was meaningless, cruelly meaningless.
The more he gathered the disparate drifting things around his world, the more they seemed to randomly disperse. Is it better to just let all go, to allow things unplanned and to not over analyse? The trust he thought he could rely upon can be dissipated in one unanticipated disagreement. He treasured gestures of friendship and communication, but these all seemed to mean nothing after business hours. He could not stand the culture that cuts and divides life before and after working hours.
He felt excluded. He tried not to feel it like this, but when he thought of the best in others, some others treated him as if he was being viewed in the worst light, whether he deserved it or not. He felt there was a two-tier system, maybe more of a multiple layered system, where he was to just do the work and he did not matter more to "them" - those he tried to do more for than just the necessary. His views were not sought out to be understood, but just judged on a presumptuous basis, without being able for him to offer his side of the story.
He was rudely told off, even when he had no intentions of doing anything of the sort he was suspected or accused of. It dawned on him that there was a set of rules for him, and a kinder set for others. He saw how some could willingly and smilingly do some things for others, but not for him. He never asked for gratitude, for anything in return, but just for a gesture of fairness and being not accused of things that he had no inkling of. He was reminded of unfair things, even if he had not asked for them. His love shown to some was returned in haughtiness and lack of consideration. His care was returned with disdain, and his heart finally broke.
The pieces of his heart flew into nothingness, just to escape the underlying pain. He joined the masses, who, preceding him, had withdrawn into this protective shell he had earlier observed from the outside. Now he was inside this same shell, and he did not even realize this. But it felt good. Really good, in a sort of meaningless, floating way.
Oh yes, another day, another promise of new things beginning. Or is it? What used to be the thing that made him want to jump out of bed and look forward to the possibilities of a new day, had just, well become, just mere possibilities.
His optimism had been progressively whittled by the cumulative acts of an uncaring culture, bred and nurtured by selfishness, the inability of most to see beyond the confines of their narrow thinking and the provincialism of a few go-getters who did not realise that they could not flex their perceived might beyond their little pond of existence.
He observed that most others had withdrawn into a kind of so-called protective shell in a knee-jerk reaction to an existence not offering growth beyond what they had already reached. Their resulting reduced expectations were perhaps a consequence not so much from a numbness that decided not to fight anymore, but to lie low and wait out the time they had been most probably given. Meanwhile the few controlled the many; the foolish could not recognize the wise and the superior did not acknowledge their inferiority and fear.
His routine became unbearable, the organized became oppressive. He searched for meaning to rediscover his motivation, but meaning became lost in the mundane, the necessary and the required. He began to see repetition, things copied in distractions, diversions and in the regimen of life. He tried to break free, but saw certain patterns, of maybe being used at times, of definitely being used on other occasions. He heard accounts of how wealth does not guarantee happiness, of how power can drive some to delusion and of how reaching out to others can lead to abandonment. What was the meaning of all this? It was meaningless, cruelly meaningless.
The more he gathered the disparate drifting things around his world, the more they seemed to randomly disperse. Is it better to just let all go, to allow things unplanned and to not over analyse? The trust he thought he could rely upon can be dissipated in one unanticipated disagreement. He treasured gestures of friendship and communication, but these all seemed to mean nothing after business hours. He could not stand the culture that cuts and divides life before and after working hours.
He felt excluded. He tried not to feel it like this, but when he thought of the best in others, some others treated him as if he was being viewed in the worst light, whether he deserved it or not. He felt there was a two-tier system, maybe more of a multiple layered system, where he was to just do the work and he did not matter more to "them" - those he tried to do more for than just the necessary. His views were not sought out to be understood, but just judged on a presumptuous basis, without being able for him to offer his side of the story.
He was rudely told off, even when he had no intentions of doing anything of the sort he was suspected or accused of. It dawned on him that there was a set of rules for him, and a kinder set for others. He saw how some could willingly and smilingly do some things for others, but not for him. He never asked for gratitude, for anything in return, but just for a gesture of fairness and being not accused of things that he had no inkling of. He was reminded of unfair things, even if he had not asked for them. His love shown to some was returned in haughtiness and lack of consideration. His care was returned with disdain, and his heart finally broke.
The pieces of his heart flew into nothingness, just to escape the underlying pain. He joined the masses, who, preceding him, had withdrawn into this protective shell he had earlier observed from the outside. Now he was inside this same shell, and he did not even realize this. But it felt good. Really good, in a sort of meaningless, floating way.
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