The Primordial Question

     There is a question that haunts me relentlessly.  While the puzzle that is me lacks several of its pieces, this unyielding desire seems to leave the puzzle in obscurity with its absence.  This is the main question I shall endeavor to answer and the process will most likely be slow.  There is but one movie that makes my soul weep.  It may but barely bring a tear to my eye, however its effects reach far beyond an outward visage.  A rock forms in my throat and my stomach sinks as an immeasurable sorrow engulfs me.  Some would describe the feeling as having a great weight placed upon their chest, a burden that none can lift.  I disagree.  The feeling is that of being underwater.  The pressure compresses you from every angle and you feel heavy and hopeless.  The most difficult part is the psychological implications of this aquatic abomination.  As you sink into the depths you lose sight of your goal.  You reach up, trying to break the surface of the water to grasp what seems so near, but the farther you sink, the less you see of daylight.  Hope fades away and you worry that you may never see the light again.  It is this burden that swallows me whole whenever I see the movie Tangled.  How could it be that this movie of joy and triumph can place such a devastating burden upon me?  That when I hear I See the Light I cannot breath? Once I answer my question and find the piece of my soul that has been scattered to the wind, I will fondly recall every scene.  Until that time I must answer not what in the movie make me sad, nor what within me must change for me to be happy; for I know the answer to both of these questions.  Instead I must discover how to change myself that I can become the person that I have envisioned.  This is the primordial question because it has always been and must be resolved.  All of my thoughts center on this question and finding its answer.

A Modest Introduction

     A thought is barely more than a figment of our own imagination, which is paradoxical in and of itself, but yet what else could it be?  A man of science once told me a thought was an electric impulse firing through nerve clusters, but this is not the essence of a thought.  I am not, at my core, robotic or mechanical.  And if a thought is naught but a fleeting charge, what could hope to interpret it?  Another fleeting charge?  There would be no end of thoughts trying to make sense of thoughts without being notions at all.  No.  A thought is more like a figment of imagination.  When I turn out the lights at night and leap into bed, my imagination has placed a creature of shadow in the room.  This allows, or forces, feelings.  Does this other-worldly creature exist?  Shall it consume me?  It may or may not.  Such is the nature of a thought.  In its constant flitting between existence and insubstantial reality, it may, at any point, consume me and drive me mad.  I have always been and shall always be a bit crazy, but as my thoughts drive me toward madness I must find an outlet for them.  I shall create an avenue that permits the vocalization of the ideas that would bring my sanity into question.  Feel free to join me on this journey, this, ascent from madness; that I may better understand myself.