Unconscious Force

He stains with his touch, dirties the clean, and undoes the right into wrong.

Far from the beginning and out into the distance of what he has become, a man finds it difficult to begin new endeavors without having them tarnished by old traps. There is no clean state to be had, no drawing board to be met, without a questioning of himself from the onset of anything and everything that he does. In the most practical way, and in the deepest sense, he comes to realize that though his intention may be innocent, his doings will be met at every stage with the threat of his own corruption. Lusting after desires, greed for objects, fear of survival, and many other inner influences, drive his wholesome heart into coveting that which taints and stains his hands red.

There is no inherent responsibility, nor any judgment to be faced, by an individual who is unaware of what he is. The silent dread he harbors in being found out inevitably as unworthy of love and respect is an unconscious force. The weight of it bears unsound and sour fruit, planted on his shoulders by layers of tradition handed down from one generation of flock to the next. It is absurd to place or point blame on those who have no choice but to do what they do, having learned the motions out of mimicry and adaption to those who came before. Point to the finger all you like, but it is the moon that needs be noticed in this tale of plot, stage and crew.

What we conceive, plan and step into play are often not undertook simply for their own virtuous sake, but to achieve some aim which we typically imagine to promise luscious rewards. There is yet a belief conveyed internally, like chatter of inner propaganda, that the actions come from an idyllic source, like cleverness, genius or altruistic regard to a higher stake. And in rare times such may indeed be the case, with the first eyebrow raised in recognition of a worthwhile dream. The man is invigorated by inspiration, motivated to move by the rush of positive feeling. His lens stirs with bright colours, hues which tint the world’s beauty into reverent drama and display.

He need only be more careful — painstakingly so — to watch what happens next. Does the effort continue with the architect’s original thoughts and emotions in mind and at heart? Or does the energy and its material shift to a lower quality, governed to become inwardly something else, although maintaining merely the guise of the creating force which brought it forth into the world? A man ought to be vigilant in watching what he does at every step, ensuring that the quality of the middle and end match that of the beginning. We ought to resist our own sense of justification to believe what is is as it should be, and that the subsequent steps of an initiative can be responsibly guided purely by the mechanical and unconscious.

In anything and everything, the initial chord has to be perpetually re-struck. The bell which began the sound needs to be played again and again so that the villagers of the town remember the source and the purity of its beginning. It could be said that such qualities as laziness, sloth and the vice of ‘thinking of tomorrow’, will condemn a man by allowing him to compromise. In one moment a muse will land by his ear and whisper elevated wonders straight into his soul. In the next he will find it easy to begin something, for that is always simple when the energy is richly abundant. When the strings of heaven are cut once again, will he fall to his knees and crawl as he did before, or will he somehow find a way to rise by his own accord?

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