The Wisdom of Pastries

I’m going to preface this by saying that I do not normally look for much in the way of fact, let alone wisdom, when reading fortune cookies. Lately, however, I seem to be coming across a disturbingly high percentage of thought provoking or coincidentally poignant confections.

Two of these were not overly impressive, indeed, were fairly generic; suggesting that I sift through the past to gain a better understanding of my present or informing me that the future is the most expensive luxury in the world. These are indeed insightful, and I know that humans are nothing more than the sum of their experiences and desires, and that in becoming we sacrifice all else that we could have been. Any philosopher could write volumes on either one of these simple truths and I shall endeavor to keep their lessons in my mind as I become whatever I am meant to be.

The other two were far more personal. The first, in a comical sort of way that had me half expecting to see Q standing over my shoulder after I had read it (I apologize to any non-Star Trek fans who might not know what I mean by that). The scenario: I was at dinner with a young woman whom I care for a great deal and hope to have in my life for as long as possible. The fortune cookie told me to pay attention to my nonverbal cues and try turning it down. I’m not a very subtle person sometimes, fortunately this woman knows and accepts this about me, but said cookie came as such a cosmic slap in the face that we both laughed hysterically at it. The most recent of these portentous slips of paper, (I have stopped eating at that restaurant for a time because of these uncommonly applicable quips), told me to dare to be myself, however strange and frightening that self may turn out to be. I’m sure someone is laughing at me for needing a cookie to tell me that, but the truly cosmopolitan among you will know that nothing speaks to a man like his dinner.

If you have read my previous post you should know that I have been doing some serious introspection lately, and indeed I have kept the darker details of that process in a pen-and-paper record safely beyond public view. There is a darkness in my soul that rails at being caged and used by others. It seeks independence–domination–by means of conquest and bloodshed…and I think I am responsible for its creation. Somehow, I must find a way to leave my cage without letting this thing out, so that I and I alone become its master. Then shall I no longer fear the dark…

Out of the Ashes

I have spent some time this evening lost in morose and depressing thoughts, having made of my reflection a thing devoid of indigenous purpose and beset by cowardice; unwilling to seek independence for fear of the consequences of failure…or success.

I had believed I was without worth. I had believed I was dead.

But before I could put pen to paper and so consign myself to fate, something said no. I am not sure where this defiance came from, only that it rose from the ashes of a thought progression that would have lead to the entombing fugue of despair.  Neither am I certain of where I will emerge when I have freed myself from this cage. I can, however, say this: one day I shall know my purpose, and on that day I will see the forces of opposition tremble in fear, for I shall be as the arrow from the bow and none will stand before me.

It is not enough to simply exist. Life is for the living. Tremble beyond the bars of my cage: I will wake soon.