Analyze and Intrrrrrprt

Original Post Date - December 7, 2007

My life is a series of essays.

I stand at the edge of the plateau, and though having completed close to 30 years of exhaustive conditioning, I am woefully under-prepared for what comes next. There is no path that rises up to meet me; indeed, there is no path at all. I turn around, looking back over the terrain I have crossed to come to where I stand now. Life - laid out in topograph. The faces are familiar, but somehow changed. I wish I had taken the time to let them know what they meant to me, but it's too late for that. Places and events run like film through my mind, and I watch myself from outside myself.

Now what?

The moments rush by, they are almost imperceptible. Time takes no note of this, foolishly ploughing ahead in search of some distant finish line. I miss the man that I was before I became the man that I am, but he is gone now... gone without even saying goodbye. Those are always the hardest. If he were here, this would be a piece of cake. Eventhough what lies ahead holds infinite more promise than that which lies behind, I yearn for years gone by. I miss the familiarity of that which I've known, and cower like a whipped dog in the face of what's to come.

How did we get here?

The past is what's brought us all to this very same plateau. I dream of our fathers, bleeding on ancient battlefields. Bleeding, and dying with purpose. Purpose is what's missing. Our traditions, our history - the collective knowledge of our species whittled down and sold to us as entertainment. We eat it up, each of us complicitly waiting for death's sweet release. We dress it up with fancy belief systems, and reinforce them with the insane belief that there is some other being that is responsible for this mess; but in the end, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

The world's gone mad. We live in regret of the past, and anticipation of the future. We search for answers, only to come back with more questions. We search for meaning, only to find it elusive. We are bombarded with the life we have made for ourselves - work, sleep, spend. They give us pills to calm our nerves, to help us sleep - to remove pain, fear, anxiety. Somehow, I doubt that this is what those men who've bled throughout history have envisioned for us. We run through life on auto-pilot.. so what happens if there is nothing else? What happens if this is it?

I turn and face the ledge in front of me. I feel brand-new, and although I still have no idea what I'm doing, I swear I'll die in the attempt. I turn quickly now, with purpose. My feet have become unrooted, and I move ever closer to the edge.

Breathe in, breathe out.

There is still no path that rises to meet me, but my spirit won't sit idle any longer.