Resolve
“Many know the path. Few walk it.” – Dharma
plink!
A cringe, a shudder. Willing the eyes to hone ever so tightly on the white square of a monotone PowerPoint, the ears to completely fill with the drone of some lecture. focus, he thinks. just focus.
plink!
The back of the mind is infinitessimally inconquerable; it knows, knows, that the silence only exists so that the next thundering, intolerable tear into his concentration can occur. It waits, inevitability on its side, knowing that every cymbal crash only further demonstrates the obvious, the willful destruction of its sanity; it waits for the rub-ins, the I-told-you-so.
plink!
Would that he could punture his ear drums to blissfully slip away from the steady drum of agony. Would that he could indulge in the fantasy of returning, nay gleefully shoving, the effluent scum down the hole from whence it came. Would that he could do something, anything, to escape the impetuous dribble.
plink!
Would that he could live in anguish.
plink. plink. plink.
“Many know the path. Few walk it.”
It’s always “Why Me?” It’s so, so easy to find yourself the victim of some inscrutable punishment, from some heinous ill-willed spirit who clearly only exists to spite you. We all know them: the chews-in-class guy, the gal who sips her coffee way to fucking loud, the neighbor that hones his terrible guitar skills for hours on end, that that lacks social skills in any regard.
They will always be there, always, forever, without a shadow of a doubt. But what need not be is the predictability of our response. We have a set of options, we have a choice, and ultimately, there is a path that we may or may not choose to follow.
“Many know the path. Few walk it.”
It’s easy to be the victim. It’s easy to whine and complain and constantly pit as the protagonist against some malevolent force. But these grievances don’t decrease in frequency because we’ve told the world how horrible a situation we’re in. We don’t recieve a respite from every annoyance, every occurence, just because we’ve acknowledged that yes, you there, in the blue, every time you get that smug look on your face after slurping from your mug I want to slap you so hard your head spins off it’s axis. The universe just doesn’t fucking care. And so instead, we drift from crime scene to crime scene, somehow always the victim but clearly never the villian.
“Many know the path. Few walk it.”
It’s easy, too, to be that bitch that everyone tip-toes around and speaks about in a hushed tone for fear of upsetting the beast. It’s easy to be the laser-guided bomb headed toward every distraction, every both, and obliterate it with a fresh heaping of scortched earth and burnt bridges. After all that asshole sitting next to you is clearly only sniffling every five seconds to spite you and seriously I’m going to shove a goddamn kleenex up your nose if I hear one more peep from your honker. The problem is, of course, is that not only are you never going to run out of targets for your pent-up munitions, you’re also going to very rapidly become that person. And yes, we all know exactly which one I’m referring to.
“Many know the path. Few walk it.”
What is so difficult, so hard to fathom, yet alone actually follow through on, is finding the resolve to not let horribly excruciating, yet ultimately meaningless shit bother you. Finding the stomach, or the meddle, or the serenity, or the mindfulness, or whatever you want to call it, to just let things go is so, so tough. And that’s exactly why it’s so damn important.
The world around you isn’t going to change much; sips-too-loud guy, spits-in-a-cup douche and the rest of them will always be there, and they’ll probably never understand that their actions could even possibly be a problem to anybody. But what can change, what you can do, is just let the small shit go. It’s goddamn tough, and it seem so unfair. But master that, and you’ll master the world’s effects on you.
“Many know the path. Few walk it.”
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