St. Kaschivus of the Fifth Circle
The Considerations of a Wandering MindToday, I realized something. It was almost such a small realization that I could have passed it off, treated it like a second thought, but nevertheless, it remained. The burning desire to share such thoughts has eaten away at me all day. It takes something larger than ourselves to share the wanderings of our own minds, to expose the most sacred of thoughts. Experiences can be reached both mentally and physically, but to map every last metaphorical inch of your conscious, or certain areas of it, becomes a different challenge entirely.
To bring such a realization into words, has made me value the ability to think freely, and not in either a positive, nor a negative way - but in a reflective one. Sat, staring at a computer screen, rambling for God knows how long about something nobody might even bother to look twice at, becomes much more important when you think about it. These comments may be lost, and may be left behind. But one thing I know for sure, is that they'll exist, for future generations of TNP'ers to discover. Like sailors anchoring the long forgotten wreckage of years ago back up to the shore, cracking open the ancient chests and seeing what has come before them.
Isn't that why we're all here? To bury our own treasures? Does it matter how small the chests may be? Not necessarily - because a treasure it will stay. Whether you see that piece of treasure as a single post, or thirty-thousand, we all make contributions in some way, directly affecting the future and all that is around us. Simply by sharing these wanderings, I might be unknowingly setting myself a path. Knowing where the path will take me is impossible, but it will be known that the path exists, and that's what I have set out to accomplish. And as I attempt to map the pathways of my mind, thoughts and ramblings, you can just relax, occasionally tune in for the latest wandering, and leave again. You are under no obligation whatsoever to continue reading, but I hope this interests you in some way.
The Unfound Satisfaction
The pirate hauls the old, bejewelled cargo up onto the sand. His fingers trace the gems and golden rings planted into the wooden frame of the chest. Seagulls fly over head, a curious dance in the sky. They squawk and they scoop low down, but the pirate does not care. His focus is on the chest, and shall be until he finds a way to open it. He finds such magnificence and grandeur with such chest, and he adores it. He vows to stay on the island, too afraid to venture back out into the deep blue. His ship docked in the tides, attached by a rope and rock. For years, the man survives on whatever he can find, desperately trying to open the chest.
Time flies around him, swirling and coersing his actions, and yet he still cannot open the chest. When time is no longer a worry of his, the chest is everything. The clouds continue to roll around above him, the rain pours, the seasons come and go and a new year begins. Each time he tries to open the chest, he gets closer. Through a crack in the side of the chest, he can see the gold and the diamonds, in piles bigger than his head. He decides not to sleep, it seems like a waste of enough time anyways, and he continues working on the chest. He tries everything; big boulders, roughing it up, throwing it down, breaking the locks, but nothing prevails. It seems like it may be impossible, and yet he still tries to open his chest.
One night, the pirate gets too tired to continue. His knees buckle, the shapes of his bones defined through his skin. "It's felt like a lifetime since I've had a good sleep!" he shouts. The tides roll in, and back out, and his mind rests. As the night goes on, he finds himself weak, unable to move. His legs tremor in the cold, and he loses feeling in his fingers. He reaches for the chest one more time, but it falls out of his grasp and he collapses in the sand. With nothing but the sound of the ship creaking over the waves and the gentle wind on his sunburnt back, the pirate dies.
On the back of the chest, the lightest gust of wind takes the thick dust from its name tag.
'Unfound Satisfaction' was its name, and it had claimed yet another life. The tides rolled back in, taking the chest back out to sea, waiting for the claws of another unsuspecting pirate.
Moral of the Moment
'For those who wish to find what is so far away and unreachable, will be forever trapped in an endless circle of dissapointment and self-doubt. True satisfaction is an impossible venture, a hike up an endless mountain in search for the peak. So inanely and unequivocally chased by those who wish to find some kind of purpose in their existence. To reach true satisfaction, is to reach the stage in which wanting any more is no longer a priority, and being truly content with the existence of ones self in a state of complete serenity and leisure - which, with us humans, is something we fail miserably at doing.'
Kasch's Moral Advice for 09.01.17