It feels, a bit, as though I’ve been dampening down parts of myself lately. If not entirely shaving them away. That I’ve been ceasing to be the fuller version of myself that I not only wish to be- but seem to feel the instinctual drive that I must be. Might be hubris, but the ignorance of it seems to grant me little more than stress and depression, of various shapes and sizes.

I can blame this on whatever I might like to- I still know who is ultimately responsible.

It is as though I have been dropping the might of spirit to better meet the fragility of body. And pulling the mind down to a similar level. It is not as though existence is easy, for I or for anyone. And I know that within the cosmic scale of fortune dolled out on this planet, the deal I’ve gotten is far from the worst. Not the best, but certainly many levels away from the bottom of barrel regarding human existence. And with what I had been dealt, I’ve managed to sculpt out an existence that many would consider quite the success. Peers have certainly suggested as much, and not incorrectly.

But that is not what drives the existential itch. Dissatisfied when idle for any significant stretch of time, I wonder if this self-conjured conflict has any end in sight. Shall I always crave more? To dive deeper? To withhold the satisfaction of what is in exchange for the addiction to what still might come to be? Have I doomed myself to be a beast of ever wanting, no matter how base or profound those desires might be?

And for all the talk of granting sanctuary to time otherwise being wasted, I have let so much run through my open hands. No matter how necessary, my soul grows distressed by inaction, even if every other fiber of my being and sentience cries out for a breaking breath. Perhaps some doctor of electrified skull meat might have answers for why this is. Going through routes of the biochemical and/or influenced behavior, someone might be able to explain this unwieldy desire for ambition in terms of balance and trauma. And perhaps they might be right, but I would still see myself fighting against any explanation not sought and caught by my own perspective.

Success- whenever measured by a metric other than one of my own constructions so often seems insufficient to me. And yet, the failure in those areas that me thinks matter most accrues an acidity potent enough to melt away at part of my very identity.

And don’t mistake any of this. I don’t hope to change the way I seek and exchange my mind and soul with the wider world. I am set to continue down this path until the organic organization in which this identity has been founded falls, fails and rots away. From dust, back to dust- while all the while seeking to make an echo grand enough to reside among the other great echoes of former beings now dust piles.

People have gotten hurt on this road. For which, I apologize. Didn’t mean any harm, even though it was brought about by my own causation. And only a liar will claim that such crimes are never to be committed again, no matter how accidental. It is likely to happen again, and I will make amends when it does. Though, it’s a human thing to hurt each other, even when or especially when not intending to. It’s the afterwards which matters, which I get right on timelines of varying length and size as measured within the one that I call mine. I also have faith that the ultimate tip in scales caused by my existence is likely to weigh at least slightly towards the positive end. The long arc of justice, and what not.

But here and now, I seem to have rung dry the words of the evening. There are tasks still for this fading day, including a shave. Before the sun rises, I am off back to my labor occupation, after a short spell away. And I aim to return at least slightly more refreshed than when I departed. But my particular bio-vessel is wearied, if only temporarily, and requires some nocturnal recouperation.

Maybe within the mundane tasks and preparations I’ll find something profound. Or the profound might find me. Though I’m wary of the latter. Always awaiting inspiration from the outward easily equals, at least for me, the active decay of the within, by means of passive acceptance.

But even from up on this soapbox, I’ve seen such things happen. And expecting them to never occur seems to make it all that much sweeter when they eventually do.