Cycles of motivation - occupational hazard of living. A fancy excuse to hide behind when I face trials of conscience at not having pursued an activity that I so enthusiastically committed to indulging myself in for purging my thoughts and emotions, for dumping my truck-loads of junk souvenirs, for offloading the burden of my life and for offering my pearls of wisdom in this ever-effervescent sea of human consciousness.
Taking a step further, for any independent variable of my existence that I sample over time, I find an oscillating function that casually hovers around an average average. Is success, by any chance, determined by the lack of this leveler of a multi-dimensional (life's) function? What does it take to break the voltage barrier and generate glitches, I ask then. What do I need in terms of a stabilizer that can not only buffer the expectedly sudden impact but also encourage fluctuations with its divine invisible presence?
However, if I somehow manage to break out of the humdrum of osciallating ordinariness, will I still remain the person that I now am or become one that I so desperately want to be? Maybe this inertia is justified then. It is this very inertia that, ever so often, transforms itself into a categorical imperative (for me) to rediscover my lost self (if I can steadily define one among many temporal projections, that is) and embark on an exciting journey into self and beyond - one that I look forward to, for it is the elixir of my life.
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I hate the world of pretentious ostentation. I want to be a child once again. I want to return to innocence. I want to experience the joy of not knowing, of not caring about right or wrong, of being able to cry at will and laugh without any rhyme or reason. I want to forget that mind exists in order to rationalize the world around itself. I want to remember only that I am inherently programmed to act on instinct, to react on impulse. But alas! I am a prisoner of the mind.
