Kafka's Axe

We sleep with our eyelids closed and have them open when we are awake. Blink. Lately life has existed in the realm of transition between wakefulness and oblivion. I look at the mirror and see myself morphing into disfigurement. I need to find Kafka’s ice-axe and shatter these gnawing reflections into fragments. There are merely shadows, I tell myself-not the substance. The substance has been polluted by vagaries of the mind hence these remorseful shadows. There must be a way to be free of this all swallowing sadness like a total detachment of the mind from the body. It would bring me immense pleasure to retain all forms of consciousness while holding my brain in my left hand free of the burden of memories. I have been thinking a lot about childhood lately and how it shapes us into the sentient beings that we are. The crave for a blank slate-a new beginning is heightened. New beginnings-these two words hold such promise. If only we could begin anew, possessing all the knowledge that we do in the present. It sounds utopian and beautiful and perhaps one day I would opt for it. Imagine going back to the first days of passionate and reignited union with your loved one spared from the staleness and disappointment, which embodies its present day-form. Or going back to forming a strong bond with your child and not having to see him grow up to be a drug-addled lunatic as you slowly realized your failed fatherhood. Or going back to the first day you held your pup in your hands and preventing that dreadful day altogether when the car ran him over. The possibilities are endless. If the present of our choice was a bubble and we could live within it, holding the reins of time, …. time in a bottle. However, this is an intervention against nature-man trying to play God and that has never worked out well in the history of humanity. We humans must bear the burden of our memories and actions. The saddest part is we must live on –and live on with the consequences of events of which we had no control over, the actions and inaction of men we never knew. As long as the bloods flows in our veins, time will not stop for us. And who would we be with our battle scars? Experiences, trials and tribulations shapes us and are the fodder for art, music and other pleasurable things. This blank slate I spoke of maybe utopian but not unachievable and only Death has that power. And maybe one day I will pick up the ice axe and behead myself.