Welcome to Daedalus' Labyrinth

This blog has been created with the intention of posting online some ideas, points of view, histories, stories, tales and anything else that its creators want to write about.

The posts will be signed as from "Daedalus" or from "Uranus", therefore, differenciation will be easily noticed.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Middle Winter Stream of Consciousness

January is passing by as fast as a buzzard in frantic hunt after its dying prey. Not so dramatic though, besides my exaggerations.
The exams have at long last begun and the pressure to get good grades has broken the fragile spiritual balance I was in.
Lately, I have been feeling like a (rather cynical) child who rediscovers everything about this world and this life every morning, every time I get up in the gray wintertime morrows, I glance through the huge window of my room and check if it's sunny. I learnt to childishly associate cloudy days with hopelessness, it seems I have nothing better to do.

Then I observe the nearby river, how its water flows, what force is behind that constant stream? Is it gravity? Is it a matter of angle? Then I suddenly perceive some beauty in the dead trees and rotten leaves fallen upon dirt. Good, I'm still sensitive to such things.

The pen is almost out of ink, who cares, I can type now and then buy myself another pen later, much later, maybe next month, I should do so this Tuesday though.

Never-ending redundant questions twist in my mind, how does everything work? Why is this world so mechanical? So strange? Why would nature be any less strange than culture if we don't even know where we came from in first place?
We cannot judge things without doing so from a solid perspective, or maybe we do know where we came from, so what's coming after we're gone? Should I even care about it?

I feel I'm in need of more space for meditation, for my inner reflections. For staring against the ceiling for hours without raising worries on those who surround me. They need not to worry, I'm a strange kind of extroverted person who needs their fair share of grooming quite often.

Giving too much poetic sense to everything that surrounds me is making me feel like I'm living in a parallel perspective from that of everyone I know and from everyone with whom I share my days.

Dark weather, lack of Sun, allergic reaction, moodiness,  unemployment, lack of patience, increasing cynicism, these things have been driving me off the rails this month as if I had ever been on the rails to start with.

Worrying too much ought to be one of my greatest flaws every now and then, why am I so worried about disappointing people? Why am I so worried about having them all around but never getting too close? Perhaps I am still finding out aspects from my own nature that have always been there but that were never been given much thought about.

The thing is I'm always somewhat unsure about absolutely everything, yet I'm still trying to find strength in me... in a very irrational and altruistic way, maybe I really do think like a believer or something in spite of it all and in spite of me.

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