A moment of debilitating reflection
He stood here many times; confused, speechless, motionless, indecisive, shaken in his absolute resoluteness. He had the same feelings, the same god-forsaken feelings, looking at the leakage under his sink, when he thought of the possible odorless poison the combination of a water treated with all kind of chemical matters, the paint, the air, and materials of the flooring may produce, and which he might be inhaling without note, slowly destroying-- without pain and with the usual human penchant for life--his internal organs. He stood there as his impulses to act, to do something about it were momentarily questioned by a psychological pathology of rationality, by a strand of skepticism temporarily neutralizing them and dismissing them as feelings of paranoia.
He has experienced these same feelings as he indulged in reading medieval theological treatises on human free will. Should he accept that he has a will, for which he is responsible before God, a power to do or not to do an act, a power to be who he is and who he is not? Or should he believe that he, like everyone else, has nothing, but the pretension of knowing, of being, of willing, of making and of creating? His destiny has been set; his fate has been sealed; his efforts worthless or deceptive at best as they arouse feelings of fake gain or quite often immitigable pain! He might as well draw the pillow closer, place his right palm under his head and surrender. But who does that but a fool? Or should he make a synthesis: his fate is neither sealed or entirely dependent on his will and actions? His fate, his life, its details, its contours, have been created and so is the will to enact them, and to refrain from all that which they aren't have been created as well. They all existed, so he must and he will irrespective of his state of mind act his role out. But what does that mean?
He knew these god-forsaken feelings when he stood there watching her leave. If he follows her any further, would he not be a worthless coward, with no self-restraint and no self-respect? Wasn't she after all the one at wrong? If he takes steps and convinces himself that his intentions are good, would she see anything but a feeble, infirm, desperate man, and who would like to admit someone with that 'fatal' flaw into her life again? No He will not take those god-forsaken steps. In fact, he has taken steps in the other directions, although his eyes kept trailing her, gently drawing a diminishing visual frame around her body as she gradually faded from sight. But why not take them. 'Not taking them' is the true cowardice? Who would give up on 'friends' (as they have been known in the circles of 'friends' as they called everyone else they had known) because they simply walked away once? And who is the 'friend' who should care for a friend who ignored her for simply walking away, a little dismayed that he doesn't text and yet seem to have many texts in his inbox? Isn't cowardice, or weakness the state of being controlled by a fake sense of pride? But how could he ascertain that a pride is what it is, or it's antonym masquerading as its own? He stood there confused, speechless, motionless, indecisive, shaken in his absolute resoluteness as he did many times. Have human beings been tortured by anything more savage than their intellect?
He has experienced these same feelings as he indulged in reading medieval theological treatises on human free will. Should he accept that he has a will, for which he is responsible before God, a power to do or not to do an act, a power to be who he is and who he is not? Or should he believe that he, like everyone else, has nothing, but the pretension of knowing, of being, of willing, of making and of creating? His destiny has been set; his fate has been sealed; his efforts worthless or deceptive at best as they arouse feelings of fake gain or quite often immitigable pain! He might as well draw the pillow closer, place his right palm under his head and surrender. But who does that but a fool? Or should he make a synthesis: his fate is neither sealed or entirely dependent on his will and actions? His fate, his life, its details, its contours, have been created and so is the will to enact them, and to refrain from all that which they aren't have been created as well. They all existed, so he must and he will irrespective of his state of mind act his role out. But what does that mean?
He knew these god-forsaken feelings when he stood there watching her leave. If he follows her any further, would he not be a worthless coward, with no self-restraint and no self-respect? Wasn't she after all the one at wrong? If he takes steps and convinces himself that his intentions are good, would she see anything but a feeble, infirm, desperate man, and who would like to admit someone with that 'fatal' flaw into her life again? No He will not take those god-forsaken steps. In fact, he has taken steps in the other directions, although his eyes kept trailing her, gently drawing a diminishing visual frame around her body as she gradually faded from sight. But why not take them. 'Not taking them' is the true cowardice? Who would give up on 'friends' (as they have been known in the circles of 'friends' as they called everyone else they had known) because they simply walked away once? And who is the 'friend' who should care for a friend who ignored her for simply walking away, a little dismayed that he doesn't text and yet seem to have many texts in his inbox? Isn't cowardice, or weakness the state of being controlled by a fake sense of pride? But how could he ascertain that a pride is what it is, or it's antonym masquerading as its own? He stood there confused, speechless, motionless, indecisive, shaken in his absolute resoluteness as he did many times. Have human beings been tortured by anything more savage than their intellect?
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