Morning Rituals

Startled by the insufferable cacophony of reality penetrating the inner recesses of our minds most restful and regenerative state; we awaken and lie silently paralyzed, whilst ruminating over our present situation in a contorted shell shocked configuration. After retrieving our tattered mental state, we mutate physiologically into an upright stance and begin to stumble in an unchoreographed fashion toward our abodes most private enclave.

Upon our turbulent arrival we expeditiously expel from our body the sins of prior days and prepare it for social interaction via a plethora of beatification rituals. We nearly peel and scald our skin with highly pressurized boiling rainfall, then generously lather ourselves with fragrant potions of untested chemical constituents, and finally we briskly scrub, brush, and sculpt our anatomical features with frenzied motions so as to appear to exude style and sophistication. Alas we exit reborn, pleasantly poised to conquer modern day monotony.

Sensing that we imbibed for far too long in composing ourselves, we glance to a nearby battery operated sundial for dreadful confirmation that we’ve fallen far behind. Now in scurry, we scramble toward a chamber containing our inventory of technicolor spoils, collected so to obfuscate our truly pale and bland existence. So fascinated, at one time, with these trophies of self-aggrandizement, yet now these accoutrements of modern life drive us to disgust with each passing use. Nevertheless, we brandish a quixotic melting pot of fabrics with which to line our no longer youthful appendages. To our dismay, these fleeting attempts to conceal the markings of stress induced gorging, brought about by our mind numbing workday, appear to be a frivolous solution at best. Yielding only an unrelenting angst whereupon we feel uncomfortably foreign in our own skin.

As if giving no credence to the previous stream of emotions which darted across our mind, we march in determined fashion, like famished soldiers, toward our very own bazaar of genetically altered exquisite delicatables. Without so much as a moment's hesitation we fixate on rapidly devouring the quintessential ingredients that awaken an altered psychological state — one adequately equipped to bear the maiming brunt of a repetitive and mundane vocation. Without pause, we rinse down the remaining half-chewed mush with a pharmacological medley of tiny pods, containing noxious substances with an associated laundry list of diabolical side effects akin to a dirty bomb. Lending not a moment to ruminate over the tumultuous self-inflicted physiological assault carried out hitherto, we press on zealously toward the next leg of your socially expected capitalistic pilgrimage.

Embarking briskly into Gaia’s crisply frigid Autumn mood we shrivel and quake incessantly whilst stuttering profanities upon each exhalation. Having braved the Everest like elemental forces like a veteran Sherpa we thaw our chilled bones with the searing summer winds of the Gobi desert, artificially manifested within the luxurious confines of our horseless carriage. Alas, jaunting into the abyss, reins in hand, a whiff of peaceful silence and solitude impregnates our fragile ego. Our inability to ride these vibrational waves of cosmic suchness, cause us to disturb, discredit, and discombobulate the flowing interplay of synchronous existence. Therefore, we frantically shift focus, exchanging mental stillness for a seemingly less abrasive distracted state amongst our technological gadgets, all the while operating a well-sculpted motorized heap of metal down the road way. Thus, increasing the probability of prematurely meeting our maker out on the oil slicked and cracked concrete plains of the 21st century. An apparently small price to pay for counterfeit tranquility and genuine restlessness.

Next, as we enter the underground cement rendezvous, it's decrepit stench accrues within the olfactory nerves, inducing capitulation from our calm facade to bleak reality. Moving from distraught to disgruntled we bask in the radiant fluorescent lumens and insufflate the moldy and rancid air particles, unmistakably symbolizing the termination of a relatively pleasant voyage. Dispassionately, we gather ourselves, looking as though we arrived at a family member's funeral, to traverse the cavernous car park toward the skybound shafts, which elevates us to noise reduced and climate controlled chambers where productivity reigns paramount and creativity is prematurely castrated.

Upon arriving at our cell block, we exchange pleasantries with our comrades in the trenches of cancelled dreams and misery. Some play the part of enjoying the daily torment well, but we don’t. Perhaps, they have accepted their fate — working themselves past exhaustion in order to realize the dreams of others, rather than their own. Nevertheless, many carry on with ardent determination in pursuit of those golden goodies, often defined as fulfilment by way of ever increasing pay, promotion, and illusory prestige.

Alas, we prepare for the grueling day by situating ourselves upon a worn ergonomic throne of mesh and hardened plastic. We, like those before, slouch into a seductive composition which hastens the circulatory damage all too common amongst those who follow such a sedentary life style. Now that we’ve settled in, a dexterous whisk of the wrists and fingertips unlocks the luminescent portal which grants our species boundless access and limitless information. We flex our facial muscles to concentrate and stave off the ever looming urge to glance at each newly arriving electronic envelope bidding for our fleeting attention. Too bad that the repetitive onslaught fatigues our cognitive muscles all too quickly, causing us to surrender and fall slave to the whims and wishes of others.

Longing for a more playful vocation we slip reluctantly into the uncharted depths of childlike wonder.