Lamentations of Lethargy - A Fictional Fireside Monologue

Being both a man of reason and of limited energetic capacity, it would be unfitting to suppose me mad or morose when I reveal that I'd rather be struck dead this very instant than to spend another solitary moment wading through the raging ocean of backward blunders within which I find myself most thoroughly immersed.

In way of satisfaction of the question thus evoked, I do not presume to make any meaningful effort toward my preference for the grave, finding myself bereft of adequate knowledge of the mysteries and machinations of the universe and its creator, and being stubbornly unwilling to risk an ill-conceived move upon the chessboard. Weakly inspired by this tenuous motivation, I deem it prudent to continue the quest for further levels of enlightenment, with the dubious hope that some subsequent revelation will justify my persistence in this material realm.

This should not be misconstrued as a malevolence for the phenomenon of life itself; for the reality is quite to the contrary. A more marvelous, captivating, and deeply satisfying endeavor can scarcely be imagined. The conditions surrounding this experience, however, are susceptible to broad vacillations - seemingly ranging between the gloriously sublime and the outright deplorable – and it is to these conditions that I attribute cause for my vexation.

The former, glorious state has heretofore remained isolated to the realm of imagination (or, perhaps, momentary indulgences in the vice – or virtue – of selective ignorance), while the latter has encompassed the whole of recorded history. It has been my wont to attribute this inequitable distribution to a progressive system of evolutionary stages, whereby the antecedent – as awkward and uncomfortable as they may be – provide a necessary support for the eventual. By this perspective, it is not unreasonable to conclude that current conditions will be justified by future states of improvement.

This provides little consolation to the present observer… though little can be readily recognized as superior to none at all. Hope is ever conspicuous by its curious capacity for appeasement; despite its object often lying definitively beyond the scope of one’s own longevity. Perhaps this speaks to an innate sense of individual eternality, or to the singular observer being but the disparate expression of a single universal consciousness. Such contemplations are decidedly tangential to our theme, but are certainly worthy of earnest consideration.

It has not gone without notice that our definition of conditions has been assumed, rather than explored, and that one’s subjective mental state can be considered a relevant condition in itself. Surely, the ability to alter one’s perceptive stance bears heavily on the apparent quality of conditions. The hapless tramp may indeed find himself in a position of vast contentment while rocking to sleep half-stupefied by the pendulations of a boxcar, while the aristocrat tosses both sanity and slumber aside amidst apprehensions ensconced in silken bedclothes. Point-of-view is a relevant – perhaps dominant – factor, and via our innate free will of conscious attention, a power within no hands save our own.

A severe leaning to either side of this apparent dichotomy is, no doubt, ill-advised; as outward conditions continually pester inner perception, and subjective viewpoint grants meaning to every surrounding circumstance. As is often the case, we see that a marriage between the two is most probable to be accurate, and that the unrelenting pessimist is as misguided in his extremism as the eternal optimist. Though, of course, both will serve well the spirit of progress if not left to act in isolation, as the former perceives more lucidly the problem, and the latter more readily the solution.

And so we’ve returned to a running theme throughout human history – the alternating footfalls of perturbation and resolution, and the mounting of one hill only to discern a yet larger one beyond. In this way, we achieve greater heights; not in spite of difficulty, but because of it. This is not to say that the miscreant, the misanthrope, and the malefactor are the sole heralds of progress, to be honored and embraced with unwavering gratitude. That which they reveal could likely have been discovered by earnest contemplation alone, without the blood and bruises of their severe contributions; but at least we may view the horrors of history with some measure of solace, given the ubiquitous ability of humanity to adapt in the direction of advancement.

We come, at last, to the final leg of our there-and-back-again excursion into the wilds of material existence, having gained “surcease of sorrow” for the present, via a broadening of our perspective, while yet finding ourselves and our surroundings largely unaltered. Like our daily nourishment, we will find that this exercise bears repeating – the earlier and oftener, the better – and that peace is (paradoxically) a state of action rather than one of leisure.

You’ll excuse my dismissal of tact in ending our visitation abruptly, as I have grown weary in these ponderings and seek swift repose. Should you have need of expediency in satisfying the petition of your own weighted lids, you’ll find the guest house adequately prepared for your convenience. Do abide the howling of the winds with some temperance, however, as change has not the courtesy to acquiesce to the caprice of the unwilling.