Mind’s lonely flux


I only came up with the fancy title as a formality but truly I believe our minds know true limbo.
It’s sad how lonesome our minds is, boxed in a brain housed by a skull prison, a slave subjected to mediocrity and knowledge poverty.
Its personally taken twenty one years for me to notice that I have not been fair to myself and my mind. Like an ignored pet, only barely have I fed it with knowledge, only rarely do I excite it, and only during tiresome mundane examinations have I bothered to use it.
Then again that’s just  how we were raised to use it, how we’ve all accepted our minds will serve their time in confinement, our consciousness is limited to a small space within our big, wicked yet curious world.
Its even more pathetic how the rest of the world, how we, feed our brains with bran and assume that our less than physical minds in there are satisfied just like that.
In a lifetime we barely read a few books (I use that word “few” with much reservation), learn to earn a career for varying income ( our priorities and economy vary) then YOLO the rest of our miserable existence away.
Sometimes I wonder if really, our minds could be independent, I wonder if all the greatest minds which ever came to be and made the greatest ever achievements, saw this era of nothing on the horizon. It really isn’t fair to us and to them how all the knowledge that they toiled for goes unread until it’s time to test our half descent short term memory.
Then again, whether you believe in philosophy, psychology or natural knowledge of any kind and feel even slightly unsatisfied with how you’ve lived your life and treated knowledge, you’d agree that this all just sucks, and that’s barely condesending. How we live in blissful ignorance, unaware of so many things, so many possibilities we ignore, the truths, mistakes and lies that easily pass unnoticed. The number of times we even miss a punctuation can infer the wrong meaning and only a lonely diligent mind can notice, if only we let it.
The number of times we are never observant and never are to begin is staggering, and the number of Stephen King books we’ve left unread is disgraceful.
I’ve looked back on two decades wasted doing nothing and truly it sickens me ( Hi, I’m anti social, don’t mind me) to see a collateral of millions of equally wasted decades living in physical form around me. I digress, I don’t mean to unload my grievances, its just that as a writer I’ve realised I can’t go as far as I should because my mind is empty.
I was only 10% curious by my own own estimate back in the day, and to that my consciousness feels proud when my imagination runs wild, but it’s still not enough.
Many of us live among people who don’t know what curiosity is, whose minds are nothing but scrawny slabs of meat that even Hannibal Lecture wouldn’t feed them, simply because they refuse to let their brains free.
I mean, broaden your horizons must be too  ambiguous for some,  a lot of minds out there never lived a childhood filled with literary glory, Nancy Drew, Harry Potter and Hardy Boys was rejected to follow the mantra of – “I want to grow up, get a job, get married, have kids and die” and even now a Stephen King novel would be too large a book with “no test answers” to lift of a shelf.
The trills of the sciences, mathematics and language are avoided because they’re either too hard or not necessary for the job we might want, unless maybe you’re majoring in one of them,( personally, I regret running away from maths and science, I was weak with them but I know I’ve missed out on brain food. ) to that some will DEFINITELY wish the torture would end.
So then, that’s just

our mind’s

world, be spiritual, belong to a society, attain some class and comfort and be happy, while the it rots in a sick poetic analogy.

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I am me. I am Me. I write when I want to be free.

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