Its motions twirl and sway like clouds of weather.

In all honesty, and with whatever sincerity I can muster, I say that no ordinary man has any authentic sense of autonomy; no force of free will in his possession. There is a tendency, common amongst most people, to take on a posture of negativity towards such a seemingly cynical point of view. Yet I say ordinary for a reason, to imply that beyond the average Joe there lies latent and dormant possibilities which may grant an individual such a power as personal fate. Gifts of one kind may be inherited, but they are worthless in value to a considerable extent, for no profusion of sweat was raised out of toiling efforts to earn them. This other type, such as that of personal autonomy, the power, that is, to move consciously against the hypnotism of the mobs of society, is of a whole other character.

What makes an average man so mechanical and at the mercy of cold judgments such as this? He is a bag filled of habits of an almost endless variety, tied down to likes and dislikes of thought, feeling and sensation. This hodgepodge of a soup, put together, we coin by a name provided for by our parents, and somehow miss in nearly every moment how governed we are by their causes and effects. Circular, cyclical, and biting their tails from moment to moment, a man falls prey to the routines and patterns that they dictate and deem like a legion of levers. Like grooved rivers, or trodden trails which turn into paths and roads, we are shaped by them like water in contorted glass.

We often believe that life’s experiences are inexhaustible; another illusion stemming from poor observation and blissful ignorance. In reality, there are a limited number of themes available in life to which a Shakespeare can denote, and it is only their varying combinations which makes their form appear unique. The genuine truth is that to each theme our mixed bag of habits and routines respond in a fashion which is both unconscious and mechanical. An alien scientist, invisible to our senses, would need only study us each for a short time in order to be able to measure what we are and calculate how we would — and will — act in any number of scenarios and situations imparted by this theatrical display of reality. A man himself will often live out the same themes, the same situations, over and over until, perhaps, something in him realizes the need to change.

Yet a potential of freedom exists and the silhouette of it lingers in the back of our hearts. It whispers to us that the conditions of this moment reflects a cage which can be possibly defied. The cage itself can never be destroyed but a special passageway exists for those who find themselves sufficiently positive towards a seemingly negative facade. The beginning depends on prioritization of values and the consistent work of rearranging what truly matters in one’s life, so that at least one portion of this crowded cluster of heavy patterns, based on all our fixed attitudes, dissolves to some appreciable degree. It might then allow a man to move a bit more freely. We need more space to see; more space to observe what is happening, and to verify what is said so boldly for ourselves. We need the room to wiggle!