whimsical lines of understanding
In the intricate workings of my curious mind, the distinction between the utterances "I don't have a ticket to Mars" and "I have a ticket to Mars" fades into insignificance. For in every given moment, the mind's concern lies in the pursuit of the immidiate truth. All other truths, however relevant they may appear, must yield and bide their time. This pursuit, this relentless search, compels me with an insistent urgency, as I weave through the patchwork of truths, implicitly aware of the endless expanse stretching forth, prompting me to adopt more tools and techniques to match such immensity.
I continue to praise intelligence, and buckle under convergent thinking. There is only one acceptable answer to a question. There has to be a popular solution to a problem. More is always better than less and infinite growth in any direction is what anyone expects from everyone. Critically responding to the same question, speaking my own truth, is dangerous. Divergent thinking can distance others from me. Such a threat of alienation discourages me to look for answers within, so I grab the best-selling book and squeeze the truth out of it.
The notion of accumulating an immutable collection of clippings and citations proves inadequate in cultivating novelty and originality. In each encounter with a previously read work, my perspective shifts like a kaleidoscope, giving birth to a unique collage of meanings. It's as if the new season of life invites me to behold the familiar through an extraordinary lens. Thus, I embark upon a pilgrimage of rediscovery, wherein the interplay of symbols and interpretations guides me deeper into the hideout of understanding.
"Less wisdom in more time" becomes my retort to the speed readers, metrics crunchers, and unicorn capturers of this age. The obsession with efficiency, the constant calculation of how to allocate time and resources, strikes me as vastly overrated. While conserving energy has its benefits, what actually happens is the shrinking of the self, and it moves me away from the arena of imagination.
In the relentless pursuit of safeguarding personal reservoirs, fortified with structured frameworks that delineate our human development, prioritizing relentless growth, I discover that the measuring of each individual life by a uniform yardstick and the pursuit of mere arbitrary milestones brings me no nearer to resolving the intricacies of personal and collective predicaments, achieving inner serenity, and envisioning a future of sustainability, abundance, and the possibilities inherent in a post-scarcity world. In fact, it is as if my efforts amount to mere inaction, leaving me adrift in a sea of unfulfilled promises and elusive aspirations, still clinging to my pride, the social statuses and the stature of normalcy.
The substance of the fleeting truths takes on a symbolic nature, akin to white garments delicately hung by colorful clothespins on a whimsical line. In the gentle breeze, they sway and flutter, spreading the semiotic essence that intertwines with my thoughts and guides me towards the new insights, creating a mosaic of understanding. Occasionally, I indulge in drawing lines. I embrace the freedom of the freehand, reminding myself to move the pencil with rhythm and fluidity, allowing the strokes to unfold gracefully. I drift off to sleep with an earbud hanging off my ear and a pencil lost between the folds of the bedsheets.