- in the name of Allah -
sometimes we find that the very things a soul gravitates to are the very things that can cause it to slowly erode, bit by bit. recent experiences of hyper-contemplation coupled with a fairly unstudious nocturnal sleep cycle from last week have sort of put these things to the forefront.
the night is such a peaceful time, with none of the distractions and bustle and overpowering glare of the day. but it turns out humanity was not made for, and does not typically benefit from, an overindulgence of lifestyle that rises only in darkness and falls asleep only in night. even though one may speak of circadian rhythms, a thorough answer would add that souls need the physical light of the sun, and need to seek rest in the moon's dim shadow. it doesn't appear sensical at first glance, but my experiences recently and in times long past confirm it.
perhaps my own variations can be traced back to this, in how my sleep finds itself turned end on end every so often, relishing in its ability to be variable and finding serenity and belonging in either state. this is a tenuous disposition. in rare moments of (relatively) perfect self-clarity, I can notice the strings around my soul, the places it wishes to go, what pulls where. at some moments I can even see the threads of other places/times/events/writing/etc. its like a crystal ball without the ball but a simple linking of cause/effect/interactions between a thing and the state it finds itself in. these perceptions are wondrous, but where is their practicality? ironically I tend to find this clarity when I have aligned with day, but some of the things I learn from it seem to fit only or be relevant to when I am aligned with night. maybe if I was half-awake at night and half-asleep during the day I'd find the zen meaning of this? heh, I wish it were so simple, but the thought intrigues.
part of my conundrums, I have thought, find their root in how I have difficulty assigning meaning to various aspects of life. valuing the intangible as much as I do, and giving high preference to those things which cannot be seen and/or measured, I find myself very much disadvantaged when trying to quantify the material and my (ideal) relationship to it, in context of its transient/whimsical/fleeting/speck-of-dust nature. how can one come to love a thing when that thing will doubtless turn to dust, failing its function and appearance over time? do shattered-by-time loves lost have any value or meaning aside from the residual and permanent pain they seem to leave behind? how can one seek money, when its value in market terms, changes daily? when what it can buy tomorrow may be half of what it can buy today? how can material wishes prevail when they are all destined, by reality (not by anything supernatural), to fade and lose color and be riddled with holes over time? how can mortals retain such attachment to things that resemble their own comparitively insignificant and short lives, instead of to those things which transcend time through representation of ideas and ideals, both immemorial? I cannot develop this attachment/need/desire/drive/ambition that compels most humanity to grind and grovel, cower from others or tower over them; my nature only grants value to the ideals manifested that will surpass and live beyond their mortally visible frames. where does this, where can this leave me with regard to my place in the world, the universe? does a soul such as mine have a role to play, can it act alongside other actors on the stage, to make the symphony worth composing? where is the script for such a nondescript vagrant? these are the voyages of the starship Nomad...its continuing mission to always seek out its purpose and place in life...D:
