Shackles of Freedom

Death.

What is it but a cessation of life?

So life is the period of time before death.

Birth.

What is birth but the beginning of life?

So life is the period of time after birth.

Life.

What is life but the time between death and birth.

We are tested in this time.

Tis a timed essay.

An essay you have your whole life to write.

HOW GRAND.

Some procrastinate till they feel they don't have time.

Others procrastinate and end up being graded before they even start the essay.

We've all heard this cliche before.

But what if there is no grading?

What if its an essay you write?

Bound only by your prompt?

Would you write it any different?

Would you wish you put more feeling into it?

Would you wish you took chances that you wouldn't take if you were bound by religion?

A hedonist perhaps?

Would you wish you could do whatever you want to whenever you want to?

Morality is independent of religion.

Things would be similar none the less.

Maybe... religion is something... a code or doctrine or moral theology that was carried on for

generations as to sort of moralize? civilize? people so they would follow certain rules or commandments?

Perhaps it is something created by man to perfect themselves for what can we do about ourselves without example no?

Life is strange, as reiterated by the ancients throughout centuries.

Maybe I do believe in God, maybe right now I don't. Maybe its not time or I haven't woken up, or maybe I have...?

Purification

Friday night.

12:29

Interesting set of events have occurred within the past two days.

Things worth writing about, very interesting, my mind is in a different state, a feeling I can't describe, transcends the descriptions of common day language.

Indescribable.

Fuck.

Trees

Another day, day before thanksgiving, day before Yawm Al Arafah (Day of Arafah).

Classes are lax without purpose or aim, at least for this day.

Motionless in a vacant presentation room, staring aimlessly as the minute hand ticks, tick tock tick tock, people die, birds flock, contemplation come my way, as a friend concentrates in the background with piano in play.

My mind has stagnated.

But I have come upon another self-realization. As I peered outside the hall, I came across a nearby tree, red in aesthetic, brown in assertion, serving for my mind a noticed diversion. Today it stood by itself, aged and sturdy in place. Clothed with leaves dipped blood red.

Harsh wind cuts through the morning.

Other trees sway with the wind in whatever direction it dictates.

Unlike the instruments of an orchestra playing in harmonic tune to the maestro's command, I emit a horrendous cacaphony easily distinguished from the rest, able to revert back to the original track time and time again but never able to fulfill my obligations.

Maybe I need a solo?

Last week the same tree retained a shade of green. This morning a deep autumn red.

Time can change things so fast. Before you know it. People leave people.go.

Some trees are accustomed to the weather and possess their original color. Other trees change their colors accordingly. Some trees stay sturdy and dominant while others sway with the flow.

People are trees.

Day One

This day has been one of those other days.. Days seem to go well and then some disappointing or upsetting circumstance occurs which completely dampens my days' value. Ridiculous. An imbalance of serotonin perhaps. Or maybe I retain a sensitive mindset.

M y t h o u g h t s h a v e s t a g n a t e d.

Don't know what else to say. may inspiration come my way.