I digress

My thoughts enter in a flurry, picking up and haphazardly throwing around the things of my world in its wake.  The crevices of my mind have made themselves known today- they're incessant.  They aren't unwelcome- perfection is unsettling, and mankind marvels at blemishes, swoons over imperfections that make a thing seem the work of a genius.  My thoughts, however, give me no satisfaction of such notions- rather, they are intrusive today.  They aren't unwelcome, but they are unfriendly nonetheless.  Most of the time, I acknowledge them, but nothing more.  My stride does not change, there are no manifestations of them in my world save the purposeful avoidance of such things that would innocently bring up those thoughts.  Ironically, they are already brought up if I am to avoid them.  But it doesn't matter, I work to avoid the consequences.

But what does avoidance accomplish?  It does well to fight back the early pricks of anxiety, but it concretely adds up to nothing.  Energy is lost to gain nothing.  Shouldn't all things work to produce positivity rather than to stifle the opposition?  Wouldn't the exercise of the former yield the latter?  No matter.  I guess I try to fight back certain thoughts because I find them inconsequential and a waste of time.

But they come in a flurry.  There's no way to distinguish one as distinct, there are so many that they can only be counted as one, collective and related.

My thoughts are who I am, I'm sure.  I don't deny them; honestly, I believe I embrace them, only long enough to do them justice as a part of me, a sub-clause in my definition, but how I deal with them also defines me.  I can't help who I am; at the same time, I can.  These paradoxical notions of my identity color my canvas, finding balance in the most complex of ways.

To struggle is beautiful.  It is life-giving, it is a blessing.  The sublime exposes the underbelly, but then we realize that it is all the same organism.  Like the booming city, with all its color, its vivacity, its important people, there are those unseen who work in the shadows of the glamorous that make the glamorous possible. To struggle is to escape despair.  Despair comes in the wide gape of idleness, and it paints a scary world for those who peek.  The world reflects the nature of a person's thoughts.  If one is idle, what hope can come from a stagnant world, so conveyed by a stagnant mind?

So you may wonder where the beauty lies.  Beauty is meant to be appreciated, and we can all see that the fabric beauty of the commercial world is meant for nothing other than appeal.  Beauty, when it enters the mind, is supposed to awe.  And so, where is beauty in the struggle, in the dark underbelly of the appealing beast?

It is in hope and faith.  A struggle is only a struggle when one works in a progressive direction.  One doesn't even need to move in that direction, just at least intend it.  To see the light of hope in a place where despair seems imminent is, I think, awe-inspiring and beautiful without question- because struggling is literally the act of hoping.

Thanks for reading.