I always get skeptical when someone advises me on how I should organize my act, or the manner of my grace simply because it is what is trending, or what everyone finds interesting. I just might be a stubborn one.
But like in raising a child, there is no one true formula for perfect parenting but exploration by both parent and child in achieving the best conduct and ethics. Of course nothing is more exhilarating than the sensation experienced by every organism in the process of learning and unlearning.
In the same way I believe it is only fair that one gets to enjoy the experience of natural growth while discovering their own personality. And as such, motivational books are a poison to such progress and a cancer to a diverse perspective, with or without the current desperation for success. By reading motivational content, the reader gets to experience an increase in insecurity levels, creating room for new learning by displacing long-held postulates that have gradually shaped one’s character. It robs most of the personality.
“It worked once for that successful person, therefore it must work for me too. ”
You don’t have to be them to make it in life, besides do you even get to ask yourself why and how it worked for them? Simply taking it all up (including the nonsensical) like a whole new set of cylinder gaskets, thinking they would fit doesn’t help at all. Just as a light morning workout for a healthy mind isn’t necessarily about the muscle building but developing a new level of fortitude, making your brain flexed enough to handle any stress, so too are most motivational-book-recommended practices more to do with the unexplained underlying chemistry, than the actual act itself. A good understanding of self is what is needed.
The successful people you see are only successful because they first learned to understand themselves and later borrowed scraps of a few life hacks to boost their knowledge. They knew it wasn’t about the number of strings they could add to the guitar to make good notes but in learning the basics of a guitar and using the simplest kind of stringed guitars that they could learn.
This leaves motivational books to be mostly a risky nonessential that takes away the fun in learning and steals a reader’s genuine identity.
Therefore I hate it, I hate scripting a life for another. I hate the greedy hands that rob the innocent of exploration, that savagely kill the late blooms and lilies. But most of all I hate the obstinate that think they know and the timid that fear to learn, but sit in the poverty of their pride. -Algorithms are meant to perfect a blueprint, but an algorithm without the distinct originality of its user is but a block of sham.-
Taking my last glance at the world that I so dearly loved I see nothing but the polished axe of justice only inches away from my face that is about to end my days on earth. I try to avert my eyes to avoid the reflection on its shiny side that meets my eyes, yet the effect is so great for the muscles of my neck to beat.
In it I see the Me that I’ve always known. I see my past and how it has brought me to the present. Like a dream I begin to replay the film of my entire life. Out infancy grows little me; an honors’ kid with no record of failure. Extra abilities begin to cook up within, I get the oratory skills, discernment, diplomacy and everything else a man of 30 can ever wish.
Out of me sprouts the little genius that drops the jaws of all passersby in awe of this phenomenon. Trust is the word that every eye sees inscribed on my forehead. And behold I am honored with the axe of justice as a mark of authority; first a small one then later a big one fit enough only for the Kings. Yet like a rabid dog, pride begins to eat away all the good in me. ‘I’ is the only word that remains in my vocabulary. I begin to seek absolute attention and excessive pleasure. Obsessed with the desire for influence and securing my loot, I begin to grow deaf to the plights of others and my sight is finally taken away. Everyone disappears to the Ghostly world and only appear when I need their services. The axis of the world is finally reduced to the size of my palm, and the world is finally in my grasp. With the axe of justice in my other hand, I begin to cut my way through the human forest to absolute control.
The dripping blood on my axe and the innocent corpses at my feet bear no effect on my conscience. The spirituality and humanity in me are all clogged with obsession.
Like a spider I unconsciously spun my own web of fate. And at the appointed time I was entangled without hope of escape. Unlike the past ditches I had hauled myself out of with the help of deception and pretense, I knew this one was too great for me to break loose. I knew my days on earth had plummeted. By my own axe I was dragged to this moment; My very last hour on earth, kneeling before lynch man.
I imagined how a piece of metal not even half my weight could so quickly end my life once it swept its way past my neck.
I marveled at how a reflection on this piece of metal could bring a full revelation of my past life in less than a blink of an eye. I wondered even more how I disguised the truth with a choice of self-assuring words. Like one watching a movie for the first time I hated myself for all the mess I had caused.
What had finally wedged my eyes open? A single piece of metal on a wooden rod? With all my sharp-wittedness, how did I miss every detail or even fail to see I was going of course?
I was going to pay for every misdeed but I know even if my head falls off my shoulders and soils itself in the dirt, I will still reincarnate. And in my next life, I will right every wrong I made. Like a farmer I will grip my plough and plow the fields of serenity.
With a swish, a new thought twitched within me. “Was I the only culprit? How many people from the crowd behind the hangman were as guilty as me?” “EVERYONE!” Was the answer that came from the depths of my heart. It was the nature of man to consider his needs and secure his achievements before considering those of others. And if his needs and whims are carelessly let loose, their effects on the beholder are overwhelmingly stunning as to hypnotize one into even banishing his dearest ones to “the land of the forgotten”; a treacherous act against one’s own principles, just clear the way for “success”.
The only antidote to this is Love and Self-introspection and that is the gift I give you all this Easter for choosing golden morals.