I Cannot Be Impressed
How the wilfully blind disappoint the mind and oppress the soul.
I am not impressed
By those who dream up questions
About the complexity of the world
Enthralled
By the subjectivity of everything
How nothing is real
How everything is just a concept
All to distract from the greatest question that remains unanswered.
With a powerful brain and living heart
You reduce yourself to a curious creature
An existentially-aware animal who speculates and proposes
But refuses to inspect the limits of their cage in the zoo
I know that fear forces your silence
The humiliation of admitting defeat
Of acknowledging that there is something you do not know
Beyond your intellectual reach and reason
Your towers of excellence would crumble
And that would leave you in the horrifyingly perfect position
To prostrate
Each day and each year,
You repackage and recycle some eternal truth
Cancelling its Divine origin
Calling it your own
But
When you cannot sleep
Or wake up in the middle of the night
Compelled by something far greater than you
What do you think of?
Who do you think is keeping you awake?
What is a greater crime than covering up the deepest truth of your heart?
What is a greater ignorance than denying the essence of yourself?
What greater disregard for all things beautiful than to shun nature’s existence around you?
When your pull your head out of the sky
And your feet return to the ground
What is your reality?
‘I think human beings must have faith, or must look for faith, otherwise our life is empty, empty. To live and not to know why the cranes fly, why children are born, why there are stars in the sky. You must know why you are alive, or else everything is nonsense, just blowing in the wind.’
— Anton Chekhov
