And, for one reason or another, I have now come to realize that in my search for Truth, I must go through a necessary pain which –in retrospection– I could have easily avoided.
If only had I looked down, closed my ears and my mouth, this suffering would have remained superficial and insubstantial; but, whatever pain that preceded me has been exacerbated by my own inflammation of my self-awareness (my self-awareness being a direct awareness of existence itself). I have reached such a level of uncovering in this search for Truth (which, compared to the default is deeply submerged, yet, really, it still remains well above the water), that I feel miserable –I am the irritated philosopher; the sad poet.
If it were as easy as some demonstrate it to be (to overcome such a life through self-deception and sheeplike spirit), these thoughts of misery and angst would have had no place in the vessel which I occupy. So, since what I wish for is for an angel to grab me by the hand and make me do what are now my drudgeries, I guess it is up to me to embody the angel which I long for and perform the ‘magic trick’ myself… I guess I will have to let the vessel –of which I am both the master and slave– to be usurped by the angel which I need so that my own hand can put away the laziness of the man that writes this pitiful reflection.