“There is a lot of room for living in the universe, but not much room for self. A planet can only harbor an ego so long, like a sinking ship at sea. The captain can stay behind and on board, go down in the waves with his pride, and he drowns every single time.”
There is a recipe behind every human. A shortlist of talents, flaws, things you find funny and offensive. You’re given a temper and sexual impulses, urges, and a moral compass. After being born, you proceed to navigate an infinitely small portion of the material world, but, unfortunately, your fellow man has kind of… set the stage, per say, in this particular light beam of the universe. Despite your own personal relationship with existence, whether it’s joy or sorrow, the reality you participate in is not of your making. The rules that you live and die by were put in place centuries, decades, days before your arrival, and your opinion, regardless of your desires, is irrelevant. You have to carry on with your lines, even if you feel like you might be on the wrong stage.
And these rules, laws, stipulations… often benefit someone other than yourself. For example, our species has turned labor into a commodity. No matter who or where you are, you have to work, usually for someone else.
From childhood we’re instilled with the idea, almost a drive, to clock in and out, conditioned by parents who have been conditioned by a corporate society. Work, and boost the profits of a currency that has an imagined value to only one species. I disagree with those that say hard labor is the only way to make something of oneself. Work is a big part of any society, but it cannot BE THE SOCIETY. It will only turn into exploitation and the us-versus-them mentality.
We’re expected to find a trade we can tolerate, and to work it until we expire. Watch television while off the clock, reminded of the shiny rewards promised to those who grease the machine. Weigh our worth in possessions and parties, coming at an imagined cost only to you.
That leads me to ask this: how can a person make a meaningful contribution to modern society? Paying car insurance, fighting off bills, and working a job that someone else would (gratefully) do for less can’t be the answer.
“Our constitution is buried in the soil.”
Man, if he desires to better himself, must resubscribe to nature. He’ll find that everything he’s ever believed in came from right out of the ground.
There is a sense of understanding one can find in their environment. Comfort, harmony, strength, and balance, all contrasted against constant chaos. The reality of our species is that we are caught in a purgatory of clocking in and out, running errands, and chasing the sleep minimum, all while confined to steel frames and plaster walls, oceans of glass and flickering fluorescent lights. We’re more emotionally invested in our lines of work, social outings, and bank statements than the planet. No, man has removed himself from nature so it can be used as another tool, means to an end. This organic tripod we’ve unfolded- that is nature, mankind, and the animal kingdom –is rapidly decaying because of imbalance. One leg of the tripod, the painfully artificial leg that pollutes and exterminates the others, the one that is cancer ridden, will only continue to harm the whole.
While this downfall occurs, man toddles, looks the other way. Rationale and reason have helped those that are accountable point the finger elsewhere, essentially circumventing blame. How intelligent we must be, considering we’ve conjured every issue we face, but employ structured dishonesty to cover the tracks, to coax people into ignoring the problems all together, or to pretend that they came from somewhere else.
Instead of buying into these sloppy constructs, one should turn back to the only thing that was ever real in the first place: where you come from. Not a county or country or highbrow culture, but the planet itself, the environment that’s played host to you and countless others. We share a time with seven billion other humans, but share a line with the entire species. We’ve all lived in the same places, there’s just an endless stream of minutes between our passing’s. Ancestors once walked tall between the trees and slept beneath the moon. Now, you and I crawl along, but only where there is asphalt or concrete, stopping and going, a billion idle engines gridlocked in cities: stages set to keep you busy, “cultured”, in line. Monkeys that discarded the jungles and canyons in favor of profit and ‘law’. Monkeys with expensive haircuts and sneakers, those that fight and die in imagined wars, and those that are incapable or totally disinterested in asking what might actually be happening around them. We stopped asking questions when we turned on the alarm clock… we know the ringing will find us in the morning, but the answers we desire make no such promise.