One sees a small black dog on the grass in Summer chasing about. Released from the leash it chases the ball. Its minder the source of its attentions, it returns in a frenzy cavorting and nervously in rapt attention of the owner of its leash that it has been temporarily released from waiting for the ball to be tossed again so that it can make another mad single pointed dash towards the solitary oblivion of the task of retrieval. The animal reduced to a reliable mechanism that will almost literally chase itself to death to continue the same cycle. How one wonders it one’s own existence in this strange thing called life substantially different. Complex? More varied in the multiplicity of the many cycles? Yes! But caught up in the repetitive cycles none the less.
Society is implicitly a prison of its own making. An unvarying set of daily circumstances that have been enfranchised under brand named entities that reliably provide what is deemed a product or service/ The interlocking of of the complexity of same carefully calculated to induce a constant pattern that the members of society devote the hours of their lives to support. This product of the congress of many human intellects all trained to a common purpose of using a similar model to sculpt a world that defeats the natural chaos while simultaneously analogizing it. As members of this amalgamation one must literally earn the right to survive. For like the chaos of the natural world to live in a unique and unplanned manner is an anathema to the fiction of perpetual survival that organized society offers one over the course of a human lifetime.
The larger question that grows up over time within those that mature over many decades of experience in the slowly morphing caterpillar like progress of the cocoon of surrounding society being the why and wherefore one would enjoy without its overbearing presence. For in as much as it can reliably provide it does equally take away. One never leaves the proverbial school room from the time one is inducted after toddling. You just progress on within the corridors provided so many times unconsciously possessed with the notion that there must be something more. Yet so often finding only a subtle variation of the same exact thing awaiting upon waking from the more random chaos of dreams. The validity of one’s own existence as far as the larger body of mankind is concerned being proven by the sameness that one returns to each morning. One state of being embracing progress into the unpredictable. The other into the persistence of a subset of experiences that in no way substantially differ from those lived the day before. The great weight of the artifice of the mechanism of public opinion ever threatening to demolish the desire to continue forth unchaperoned into the unknown alone.
It is at this boundary where the tension of these two impulses seem to define the character of any given human. Betwixt the world of industrial fantasy that ever advertises the glories of perpetual constancy and the risk taking of repeatedly embracing what is in the present an unknown factor that can deal life and death. There are those that shy away from any precipise. And those that use what they might have discovered in the past as an implement to survive jumping over its edge into limbo. All that are presently known of being perhaps like some monstrous school of fish that are caught in a fisherman’s net that confines the known species. As a member of this enraptured community one has to ask if one dares what else could there be? The collective veil of categorized human experience of the stages of life as lived soon forcing one to ponder if there is any way to get off what seems to be a perpetual moving passenger train barreling down an endless track over a trestle that will not allow escape but only certain destruction. One finds oneself like any tiny little caged animal obsessively consummed with the question, “Can there not be something more?”
So like the dog in the park in the context of the civilized world we are forced to chase and chase and chase and realize that for some strange unaccountable reason of unaddressed fears of a often seductive unknown we condemn ourselves to the former while professing longing for the latter. This split obsession leading nearly all to the reliable nowhere of the same.