Life is activity and with that, chaos. When we come into excess, there’s a process of desensitization, a numbing indifference where pain and pleasure fails to trigger the necessary stimuli to produce feedback: a signal that affirms we are alive. this insatiable void consumes the very spark of motivation and compels us to pursue life for only for the sake of “the thrill”, at all costs, to exhilarate oneself in order to feel that fractionated stimulus streaming through our bodies, and waking us from the slumber of monotonous routine; as though it were a force of salvation, an obligatory reward for none other deserved, or the long awaited light at the end of a dark tunnel.
During extended times of deprivation, the hunger becomes too overwhelming to not appease, too unbearable to ignore, and could only be described as “sensory death” in a manner of zombification. But why must I succumb to the reign of chaos and be a servant of his bidding? Why should I subject myself to the whims of the world, become a slave of its mechanical clockwork, a pipeline of sludge through which flows the putridity of the higher echelon, a broken canteen that is unable to retain the nectar of life and surrenders everything to oblivion?
Why is my reliance held by the hands of substances pre-supposed to render my world in a wider spectrum? Why am I so adamantly fixated on paths of effortlessness to propel me to new heights when everything in life worth living for requires effort? Only in transient passing can I embrace love if I cannot with due effort offer her tantamount that which she bestows upon me. How long can hold on to friends and family if the only things I have to offer is use and abuse? How far will I succeed in my profession or any other worldly endeavor if I refuse to expend that which is necessary to pursue my desires? What heights can I ultimately attain if my roots are so tightly bound to the earth as such that it prevents me to shake from my state of stagnation?
When I use any vehicle for such ends—to elevate us above the insufferable reality–I stake my life at its mercy as a passenger of an aircraft taken to the skies: I relinquish my control in the take-off, landing, and all events in between. If I can fly by my own wings, then I can more readily ascend and descend with grace, adjusting for the turbulence with consideration to my own body, and my own livelihood; in this state, I am the vehicle and the passenger, I choose the destination, and wherever the journey takes me, it will be of mine own volition.