alea iacta esto

Arise From Slumber

My heart, you have my full permission to rage at the automaton your host has become. Upon a sunny time once, he, younger then, bounded with the wishful follies common to those who have yet to witness many dawns. Remember how his impish gleam went glove in hand with blue-hot fire in his belly; how he reveled in hopes for and in his future; mind you, not small ones like meatballs or gnocchi but huge, huge hopes, even bigger than the biggest star in the sky! Imagine that!

Ha! But promising decade after toiling decade after despondent decade have squeezed the juice out of this fruit; what yield now this droughty harvest? We have together watched with alarm as he morphed into a caffeine-powered somnambulator; a corporal in the Waiting-For-A-Pension-At-60 Army chanting with soldierly gravity the dirge of “Another day, Another dollar”.

My heart, what then your rage? To your host: let the day he swapped expressing his native born talent for a grateful paycheck be cursed. Let that morning he stamped out Excellence in favour of an annual three-star job review be damned. Remember, Death waits in his usual corner like a phantom character barely perceptible in a chiaroscuro. The Great Leveler, as final judge and arbiter, will one day ask of you as of all those he has welcomed into the Great Darkness: when breath was still of your choosing which did you choose: existence or living.

My heart, what shall it be? The universe will be here forever but you won’t. Is it true that only those crazy enough to believe they can change the world (and themselves) go crazy? LOL. They say these oddballs are the very ones who in the end get the chance to do something majestic; sometimes for good, sometimes for evil. Your star is set on the Good but when shall you arise from slumber?

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