How curious to deliberate on days filled with pleasing habit and camaraderie! I take tea outside in the morning when the mist rolls over the sand. Daily I engage in financial discussions with clients for whom I have genuine affection. I attend meetings where the same faces smile back at me. My Alden loafers and Church's brogues are polished every Thursday morning. And while such routine gives me a certain satisfaction, a subtle note of doubt runs through the hours. There is something about modern life today that never quite rings true. It is not so surprising, perhaps, that in these waning days of the Kali Yuga, a growing sense of breakdown swirls about me like the winds on Lenana. The atomisation of our world is almost complete, I feel, and with it, a thrusting chaos that makes meaningless, if we let it, the old certainties we once took for granted. Like a drunk trying to cross a crowded room, we fix our gaze on distant object and proceed towards it, haltingly at first and then with accelerated purpose, grasping at wall, clinging to wreckage. I, too, drift along this solitary route, like a dream undreamt and yet still written.
How curious to deliberate on days filled with pleasing habit and camaraderie! I take tea outside in the morning when the mist rolls over the sand. Daily I engage in financial discussions with clients for whom I have genuine affection. I attend meetings where the same faces smile back at me. My Alden loafers and Church's brogues are polished every Thursday morning. And while such routine gives me a certain satisfaction, a subtle note of doubt runs through the hours. There is something about modern life today that never quite rings true. It is not so surprising, perhaps, that in these waning days of the Kali Yuga, a growing sense of breakdown swirls about me like the winds on Lenana. The atomisation of our world is almost complete, I feel, and with it, a thrusting chaos that makes meaningless, if we let it, the old certainties we once took for granted. Like a drunk trying to cross a crowded room, we fix our gaze on distant object and proceed towards it, haltingly at first and then with accelerated purpose, grasping at wall, clinging to wreckage. I, too, drift along this solitary route, like a dream undreamt and yet still written.
