Pit of despair

A project for life...
In search of the truth of it all...
A way to wade through the mud which comes up past my waist..
The swamp is all around. The inhabitants of the swamp make soaring to the heavens impossible. They drag you down to their level.
Ignorance abounds. The world is smaller than the eye of a needle.
Where is the desire to escape the chains of bondage?
Where is the urge to wrestle freedom from the jaws of those who hold power?
Where is the beauty that makes man the champion of the truth of the world?
Where is the questioning, the insight, the quiet calm of reflection?
In travel, yes. In breaking the bonds of routine, yes. In making love, yes. In writing, sometimes. In sleep, yes. In death, perhaps. I remain to be convinced.
To be free is not to escape oneself. To be truly free is when one is emersed in oneself.
I smile and embrace the world when the secrets that make me tick remain unknown to anyone else.
I long to walk out the door of this office - where I am chained to a desk to make money - and leave on a boat and sail to Europe and become anonymous again.
Not forgotten.
I would journey on the trains that I love to the romantic destinations of the ancient continent. The places that made the old world that I love so great.
Places like Posen, Sarajevo, Danzig, Odessa and Brabant.
And if by good grace I was afforded the privilege of never having to talk to or acknowledge a swamp-dwelling imbecile again, my soul would soar as high as the heavens.
And I would be free. Anonymous and free.
This shall be my project. To discover what has made me who I am.