Hear Me Bore

Hear Me Bore
My Pen Mates,

I've come to the conclusion that I bore. There seem to be no more aspect to my conversation that interests me, my friends, and worse, my family. I have zero impact in the way of modifying behavior, attitude, or perspective. In fact, there have been moments of late when I pause mid-sentence and tell myself: what's the use? It will not make a difference one way or the other.

If character is destiny, I'm sliding into a diminished capacity state that even my well-being does not matter much anymore. Trying has worm me out; talking has spent my energy, perseverance has hollowed out my resolve. I cannot make a difference with my limited talent. Neither can I properly teach or inspire. What use is setting an example when everyone has blocked you off. What relevance does good intentions command when intractable elements preclude the motive from getting across.

How did it go this way? Somewhere down the line, I misread nuances in people as promises of grand potential. I was over optimistic, naive, and singularly self-deluded in creating castles in the clouds; blind to the frailties of my genes, ignorant of the defects of my upbringing, denying the essential shortcomings of both my intellectual and physical talents. Enthusiasm can only hide so much sin, and when the mask is shed, the despair I feel with my minuscule affect is maddeningly depressing. I cannot talk anymore for I have not changed anything from talking. No amount of skillful phrasing has delivered my message of hope, my vision of a bright future, and my earnest attempt to have people share my values. Failing these, I possess no demonstrable accomplishment that people can relate to. My companionship presents no joy, my words imparts no wisdom, my entreaties moves no one, my pleadings fall on unlistening ears. There's no use in talking when you find that not only do you bore others, you are a bore to yourself.

On another morning, when I get up on the correct side of the bed, my mood might click into a different slot; perhaps it'll latch onto a happier groove. For now self-flagellation seems comforting. Hey, if it's good enough for the Pope....

Mon

Never Original

Never Original
My Pen Mates,

"The only thing new in the world is the history you don't know." I've often quoted this phrase not to denigrate anyone's idea but to keep me grounded when I start imagining that mine's more special than others'. Truly, I've become convinced that the basic framework of human imagination and thought process has long been established, and all the meat we've attached to it emanate from the fundamental structure long pondered upon by Socrates, Galileo, Newton, Fleming, Gates, Lincoln, Hitler, Khan, da Vinci, Perry, Van Gogh, Mother Theresa, and all the un-named firsts, infamous and pioneers in every field of human endeavour and experience.

It does not make thinkers less special, only mostly unoriginal. I am not saying we have made no improvements, but all we've been doing is work out the nuances of the broad strokes that have been layed down before us. The minor forks in the roads and the fine-tunings that's been done over the centuries are just constant tinkerings made prominent and magnified by how much impact they have brought to the dominant human norm. There are still myriads of these nuanced analyses and micro-fields of study and research to come; many may well supplant existing thought, and more will reveal newer truths. But like the body shedding old cells so new ones can develop, nothing new is ever truly found, only an understanding of what has always existed but heretofore misunderstood or misused.

As someone before me has astutely stated, "What is before us and what is behind us, are very tiny things compared to what's within us...". We, are very hard to understand; the process of that undertaking is the consuming quest that defines our existence.

Mon