Asymetries of our time

Perhaps life should not be as deep as it is,  coffee in the morning and evening chai by the window watching the fading hues of the sun as it flirts with the sea, refusing to part, lingering long enough for the ever so eager body of water to make one last attempt at reflecting the beauties of its departing lover.

A gathering by the moonlight when the witching hour is nigh, blankets wrapped around tepid bodies, laughter filling the night, providing entertainment to the long-eared owl hiding in the thick of the woods. 

When morning came, feet would march with the vigor of sycophant supernumeraries towards unallied destinations,  eager mouths chattering in fervency about the latest victim of the Whistledowns Hunt, a repeat through and through, day-to-night; a set routine. An order established, a cycle created,  from Childhood through adolescence through adulthood, time changes, age increases, this order would stay the same, not much differing, save for switching roles, from the wailing juvenile on their mother's lap to the scampering daring youngster by the fire, to the uninterested teenager and finally as the graybeards of this order. Much to our dismay, life is as deep as it comes, the Existence of such simplified order which stays a norm for the lots, albeit cruelly is one some of us would never get to experience despite gut-wrenching long for it, it is also one others would never have the liberty to wish for. 

Reason is a subject that does not apply in the questions of the logic behind the biases in life, How could one possibly explain the alarming dissimilarity in the experiences of people doing the same thing simultaneously.  In this world where we stay fully aware nothing is equitable, and outcome of events will differ unfairly irrespective of the toil put in it,  why then do we struggle, groveling at whatever string could hold our weight down, long enough for us to climb. Foolish one may call it, how insistent we are at striving for more, Sometimes lots of us don't make it past a phase in the cycle, at dusk the community is at an odd number, when dawn breaks the number evens, and the lingers of grief stay ever a shadow. 

A cynical game it is, where even the institutions we have set up to procure explanations-of such being religion-, only shed light on the extensive cruelty that is life. for How could the creators- often symbols of morally right compasses- watch the unfair dynamics stay rampant in a world they created with love, why are the prayers of those who so diligently worship them often treated with no regard? logic failed once again and in our unrelentless nature, we sought to pacify ourselves so we created our answers, called them tests, a hurdle for only the most pious and virtuous of all, the ultimate sacrifice for complete achievement of sainthood. Humans are quite hopeful people, perhaps one of the very reasons we somehow, someway manage to get through it all until the end, why we find answers to questions we asked, and when the universe refuses to procure them we create one ourselves.

I have come to over time, understand that There is however an answer to that which itches our brains, knowingly and unknowingly, the real reason behind our desperate search and need for more, why the order would never stay a unanimous norm, covered behind fancy metonymies- like legacy, wants and needs-.  Greed. we are greedy, that is why we would still crawl eagerly through the nastiest depths of the mud with no path in sight, it is also why those who have it all would go even deeper through the mud in search of more. It makes a perfect explanation of why we have with our own hands created the ties that bind us, and why we help life in its abject cruelty. There is no escaping the very essence of our being, our unfiltered desperation rooted deep, woven into the very core of our souls, and though the scale may differ, the seed still stays the same, greed, pure greed.

Will there be a consolation for the inequality that is life, a compensation for us when we depart from here, tiny pieces of evidence of our existence wrapped in different forms spread across multitudes of land, telling stories through inconspicuous elements. Would that satisfy us, wherever we are after this? When all is said and done, in a millennium to come will our ghosts still live on?. We would never know the fate that is for us, we may theorize, speculate, or predict what we desire as an outcome for us, But we would never be privy to full knowledge of what becomes of us when its all over. 

Life is as it is, and we know what it is, existing in here, we become complacent to the inequality that is the essence of life. So gradually, we forsake a simple cycle-probably through the unpredictability of life but not as much as it being due to the means crafted by our own hands-,and we succumb to the greed that forms our being. 

The connoisseur.