Musings: The Chess Game ~ Just When I Thought I Could “Capture Life”

Olive wood wine cup. Source: Pexels

by LJ Frank

The human soul is primitive and shapeshifting.

The violent shaping of the soul is pornography. And violence is tiresome and unsensational. The graphics of spilling blood is a norm in a world of existential angst. The true wilderness appears to be the human mind. My soul seeks contentment. I am weary.

I am weary of creeds. I have found the sowing of a dogma can reap untold sorrow, and gluttony can be both physical and spiritual, and the currencies so necessary for existence are intellectually and emotionally flawed. Man can become a pawn unnoticed to himself, while life is treated like a chess game with Death.

The incorporated Man and Woman understand the endless stream of words politized for the sake of coins, in turn, surrounded by nerve linings of the brain’s coffer. And the deep pockets of a true believer worships on the artificial Sabbath with its ceaseless invocations, writings, and voices, with ‘in-vestments’ ritualized, and daily street fashion takes on different meaning while celebrities sun themselves on a tropical beach, a distance away from the servants’ quarter.

I recall the 1960’s and 70’s while living and studying abroad, the news that Earth was over-populated and generations later, I find it odd with people scratching their head over the dilemma. But now that Artificial Intelligence is with us, fewer domesticated humans might be needed, and as the climate alters the living standards is it best to turn our heads as another child dies of starvation, and another weapon of killing is sold, battles far from the eyes that are wanting only to see a measured balance?  Does the closer space between us cause a greater disruption?

Reflecting on my life invariably I ponder the next move and whether my spirit in the form of energy will be dispersed, depending on the philosophical angle of the view…still, it is common knowledge that a belief is not a fact, fatigued and jaded I am, for no living person knows…but then does the destruction of my flesh create insight after the bereavement? For whom?

With aging I have become impatient for the joyful experience but patient for the end….I am exhausted, surrounded by cliches, adages, proverbs, maxims, and writings made sacred by inspired hearts. Still, they’re voices are not mine…all is futility and empty if given too much thought. To ascertain meaning where there is none, except the one in my mind, can be seductive, and still, I possess nothing, not even myself. For the more knowledge I have gained the greater my sadness, yet, ignorance is much worse and existence is merely existence, so why not baptize myself in it?

When the mind and body are impoverished, false hope is found aboard life’s raft crossing an immense sea of vanity, the illusion of a shoreline filled with promise is deserted in rough weather though friends’ may wave in the receding distance with a few clasping their hands in prayers, and my mind cautions my heart – it will all be over soon enough and to die is to live and love in the moment, to sense, to feel, to touch and to taste the minutes of my life.

Heaven and hell are spread out before us. Did it take too many years for my mind and heart to arrive at an understanding? Be kind to myself and share a smile and proclaim that for a cosmic moment I was able to breathe and nod my head in acceptance and pray in silence.