Monday, September 24, 2012

A Thought Problem of Preference....


If you take a shot and everything about it from the aim, the trajectory, the wind conditions, I mean everything about it is perfect and planned for, and you hit the target with absolution precision, flawless execution but still don’t get the outcome you wanted would you have rather missed? I’m debating that question because a recent series of events is very much like this. I took my shot, I hit the mark, and I still got nothing for the effort. I’m debating if it would have been better if I missed altogether. On the one hand I’d prefer it because then at least I could just say reload and try again, but in this instance I hit the bull’s eye without blinking. I nailed it dead bang. Shooting again would do me no good and only serve to undermine what little I managed to accomplish with the first shot.
So that having been said, the question has to be asked, would it have been better if I was off or if I missed on my first try? I feel like it would have been. Somehow it just feels like I failed miserably to have everything lined up so perfectly and yet still not have things come to fruition. It makes me question if I’ve slipped in my skills, if my eye for analysis and evaluation is somehow less than it was before, if I’ve lost a fundamental and unique skill. That kind of self-doubt is dangerous to say the least. I know that somewhere in me the impetus for all my skill, all my ability was the fact that I cared. I had passion and that lent itself to something powerful and wonderful. I had the full use of my abilities because I was passionate about them and the use to which I applied them. The impetus for my passion is no more and thus my passion no longer burns as the conflagration it once did. I’m sure it could but it’s finding the spark to reignite the fire that is proving more troubling.
Going through the motions is easy, it’s controllable and simple to maintain. Reeling and struggling as I’m battered from one end of the fire storm to the other is difficult. In many ways I miss feeling so helpless and ineffectual. To know that the maelstrom was outside of my control and that the best I could hope to do was come up for air every once in a while as a kind of reprieve to attain clarity, is something seems like a welcome condition these days. Few people know what it is to be passionate, to genuinely be inspired and feel the energy of something beautiful flow within you; to wake up every day and find new zeal toward a goal or endeavor. I felt it and I reveled in every day I had it. I was wrapped in it like a gossamer blanket of joy. The inferno dimmed. The spring ran dry. The intensity of that light only lasted so long and eventually there was no more fuel to feed the fire, no more rain to replenish the well. I did my best to cling to my blanket but wound up holding onto shadows and ghosts.
This is the world that I have inhabited for far too long. A run down and derelict structure that once served as the seat of unrivaled grandeur. I’ve dwelt within a palace that has served more as a tomb than a shrine or an edifice of lavishness; a hollow kingdom with a king that cares nothing for the suffering of his lands and peoples. I sought the disconnection, reasoned away attachment as something to be reviled and abhorred. Human affection is a weakness, emotional investment is foolish, trust is the ultimate invitation for betrayal; the rhetoric goes on and on, but in the end it’s all the same idea, “misplaced faith and trust can only end badly”. But even as brilliant as some might claim me to be, I missed the first word in that: misplaced. I pressed on, willing away anything that would possibly connect me to humanity and thus leave me weak, heedless of the possibility that the choice might turn out to be one of ultimate self damnation.
But now we arrive at our present hypothetical discourse. If you make the perfect shot but still lose in spite of it, would it be better to have missed completely? Put another way: For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?

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