The clouds of darkness are lifting.
Light peeks through, a better tomorrow beckons. The will and the desire to embrace it grows.
No haughty proclamations today. No pointing out of errors or folly or betrayals. No condemnations, no profound revelations. Something better, a little story and the experiences shared so that those younger or still able to gain to benefit of new may have something to feed their minds. The value of it? Who knows? I do not, but as with breathing, eating and making love, sharing stories is what I as a man do.
So let us continue.
Old timers, and those suffering the effects of obsessive or repetitive behavioural "disorders" that the capsuleer community is so blessed with, may remember some earlier stories that I have shared.A Journey
Was one of the more memorable.
Unlike others that tell tales of dread, woe and religious journeys here in this place, I can attest that these experiences are genuine and not the fevered imaginings of a girl playing popularity games.
This was quite some time ago now. The universe stays the same, and yet changes so much. Such a trite statement, yet has such depth in its shallowness.
Since this time, the story that unfolded was the same story we all have. A battle for survival then relevance, then meaning. It is a humbling realisation when you do your absolute best and fail, you know you are failing, you take the best most considered corrective actions and fail yet again. I believe in the pirates parlance this is called just simply "fail".
But being fail has its own story, its own journey, its own little message if one listens. For me in hindsight I took too long to listen, but in the end does it matter? Probably not.
So what lessons then, from a failed monk, what possibly could be shared in this little vicious nest of primping, preening, positioning and desperate last gasp clutches for relevance in a reality that is moving on?
The time I have had has become one of reflection. In this reflection, unlike my time before I became a monk, driven mad by the solitude of space, sense violence of the low sec pirates, viciousness of the matari militia, uprightness yet haughty arrogance of the Providence holders, and close proximity to the Cathedral of Blood, this reflection was very different.
Reflecting on failure gives at first great grief. For you do at this time grieve. It is the death of your dreams. You cry in your own way, then you turn to anger and then to blame, then you seek vengeance and destroy those around you who showed you love and consideration. I do of course wish to apologise for this yet again, but it will no doubt fall on deaf ears. My time I chose to waste on bitterness and hatred. A lesson for those coming after perhaps is to make a different choice.
But what comes after this is what makes it almost worthwhile. Peace. The Serenity of the soul. You have grieved the death of dreams, and now you must yet live on. What to do?
Bridges are burnt. But one of the early lessons of my favourite discipline, Game Theory, is that you in fact maximise your payoff in some games by closing off options. Burning Bridges. Perhaps my greatest time is ahead. Who knows, but fret not I'm sure I'll find the time to post a long rambling introspective discussion on it ;)
The time now after this great mourning and destruction has left a great gift. The emergence of clarity. The mind now is free. Unconstrained. With the battle for meaning and relevance lost I have joined the great mass of humanity. The unspecial, the unblessed. Mediocrity is not so bad. In fact, I increasingly find it better.