Hope in reality is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man. – Friedrich Nietzsche
“It is unwise to be too sure of one’s own wisdom. It is healthy to be reminded that the strongest might weaken and the wisest might err.” ― Mahatma Gandhi
This morning, I woke up with a raucous sinus headache, a sign of jarring weeks gone by. As my head clears and I embrace the rest captured, the fogginess once clouding unrequited goals starts to disperse. It’s scary but I have to; I want to realize such things for myself.
Unequivocally, I live like a recluse without an opus (especially in bygone years) and that must change. Working in a grocery store is only a stepping-stone to something greater…and I’ll do it with a smile on my face.
After provoking thoughts like these, it reminds me of an episode of Night Gallery (They’re Tearing Down Tim Reilly’s Bar). I watched it almost a week ago and it was about Randy Lane.
A plastic salesman who worked twenty-five years for the same company by putting his head down and getting the job done, and was woefully undervalued. He had also lost his wife and any other purpose for living. When time and the opportunity to keep his position are stripped away from him, he turns to drinking heavily…in his favorite bar.
The aforementioned tavern that is about to be demolished.
So for Randy, the bar represents all that was positive in his life: the good times as they would say.
Long story short, Randy discovers that he has not been abandoned or unappreciated. His coworkers (his boss redeems himself by throwing it and his secretary, who always supported Randy, implies her love for him) set up a retirement party across the street from Tim’s destruction; an ironic and symbolic new beginning Mr. Lane as he releases the past and embraces (an uncertain but) happy future.
What “Randy” showed me was how fragile hope can be and the ease calamity can provide; while I know a job doesn’t define who I am or what my life, it is often difficult to differentiate the two (especially in isolation).
Ultimately, like Randy, I want to work hard and become a man who can be proud of what he has accomplished. He affected his coworkers in such an altruistic way. A true and god’s honest diligence…
From a sordid cavalcade of employment I’ve accrued, I’d truly vie for that.
Hell, I’d die for that.
And if a transformation in my thinking has to occur, then so be it!
Bye for now, KS.
That shape over there,
helps hearken hart,
tripping on yet ‘nother song
as blue embraces the dome piece,
assembling in parts,
puzzle segments once continents,
ideas forever contrasting,
to impressions of audiences,
as it germinates,
make my purpose,
unknown to me,
a blue cloverleaf…
The Way Through the Woods They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ring-dove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods. Yet, if you enter the woods Of a summer evening late, When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools Where the otter whistles his mate. (They fear not men in the woods, Because they see so few) You will hear the beat of a horse's feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, Steadily cantering through The misty solitudes, As though they perfectly knew The old lost road through the woods. But there is no road through the woods. By Rudyard Kipling