Worth Filling

Oh, how he struts with confidence, eager to say what he wills, and deem what he sees fit! Yet with a passing whim, a sudden shock, all he knows may come to naught. His world flips upside down, topsy-turvy, keeling over the road, thrashing down into a muddy ditch. In everything a man must somehow be humble, but how can he ever preserve this sort of dignity in the face of society and its demand for incessant certainties?

Men keep hold of a million ideas in their heads not of their own, sharing seeming wisdom and the quackery of posed beliefs. Nothing is of his own, conjured by his own innate individuality, but rather, all is brewed from rehashed jargon inculcated by those he was commanded to obey in a time when memory was not yet born. So now he walks and talks with a beaming smile, conveying counterfeits of what he faintly knows but doesn’t understand.

May lightning strike on him and reveal once again that he is nothing but a small, insignificant, toy amidst a magnificent cosmos. May he be humbled by such an idea, so much so, that he not ever try to needlessly impose himself on others or the world at large. He need not prove anything to anyone, and if he truly accept this one axiom, he may begin to ‘be’ something worth filling.


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