2 months or millions of seconds passed since I announced my ecstasy. Nothing did I initiate to mark a change. My decay continues with no respite in sight. No serious effort being made to walk my talk, I’m in a classic monkey trap. Is this a psycho-paralysis or a comfortable numbness or just a lull before the storm?
I know I can’t take the banana out of the jar. Either I take my palm out letting go my greed for food, or I get caught with my fist clenching on the banana. It’s my experience that shaped my habit and defined my world of what I can and what I can’t. My actions are finally governed by my conscious picture of myself. My analytical skills, after scribbling ominous forebodings on the wall, go mute when it’s time to speak up. Here my expertise limits my learning ability and closes my window of opportunities, which in turn drags me down further. I need a beginner’s mind – ‘Shoshin‘. (Learned the phrase today)
“Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun…” [‘Time’ / Pink Floyd]
The monkey knows that its known options are limited: go dry or get caught stealing – it chooses the latter. It knows there could be countless options outside the jar but there is a price. It lacks passion to fly and hence lacks desperation. Without desperation, the confidence of facing the unknown obstacles hidden in those novel but uncertain territories never rises above the inertia of its status quo… as if it chooses a predictable death over dying in a freak accident.
What am I waiting for? A force, a push from outside, I suppose. I, in my well, have formed an internal system of sorts. Sitting on a chair, I can’t lift it. A strong, ruthless gust of wind needs to break this stalemate and free my mind of my prejudices. Such a force is unlikely to be friendly, but that’s the option I’m counting on. I wish I were a believer. Some form of faith (into someone or something or both, watching me from beyond the Exosphere and preparing my runway on this steadily sinking ship), would have alleviated my stress. Miracles are oblivious of faith hormone levels of humans… mumbling this line in front of a mirror doesn’t help either.