Saturday, March 24, 2007

The Race with No End

I sat in the quietness of the house contemplating the rat-maze-of-a-life I'm trapped in. As the sunlight broke through the morning air, it hit me: we will never win. We live a life where objects become outdated so frequently, and no matter what we do to get ahead and increase our comforts, we are always going to be fighting the decay of our world around us. We think we'll one day beat back death, deconstruction, and entropy, but they are natural occurrences that are vital to the function of the earth. They can never be defeated.

The more we fight to get a little more, the more we separate from one another. It is like we are running a race but yet we don't realize there is no prize at the end, only a long run of futile anguish. If we would make communal societies then the industrial machine that runs us ragged would disappear and interdependence would fill the void in our lives. The world can only become peaceful when we join together to rejoice in a common happiness. Our current competitiveness not only takes us further from harmony, but infects the world with unnecessary murder, pain, and heartache.

We connive and scorn as we fight for that oasis of a perfect life. It will never come and we will never "win" anything. Whether it be retirement, huge salaries, or extravagant properties, there will never be a time that you can quit running the race and declare victory. There will always be another leg added.

Take an extreme example like winning the lottery and imagine what would truly happen. The massive millions can not be immune to inflation and the money, in time, will disappear. So, in essence, these races we fight for every day only offer a mock sense of relief when in actuality they increase our burdens exponentially. Inflation is more than an economic bacteria, it is a tangible representation of our pain and anger toward one another. We want to have more and punish others, and that greed is metamorphosed into inflation.

Happiness is like taking a gorgeous picture you have spent years painting and, after realizing it is a masterpiece, tearing it to shreds. Like the materialism we devour, what other purpose would the picture have other than as a weapon to taunt others?

We know we should abandon our suburban lives and head to the hills to live freely, but we feel it is a joke and, when we get to the countryside with a flower placed nicely behind our ear, we would look back and see the industrial world laugh as it devours all of our "stuff" we left behind. That fright keeps us running on our gerbil wheels.

I haven't ripped the life-support wires out yet either, but, god, how I want to. Maybe it is like jumping off a building: you just have to either do it or not. I have me toes on the ledge and I'm looking down. I am waiting for someone to push me, but it has got to be all me. Just me.

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