1375
1375 is how far back I can trace my linage.
To a bunch of ordinary people, that did nothing spectacular with their lives. They lived and died grubbing in the mud, just trying to survive and raise their children to do the same purposeless thing. What a waste it is with our pointless lives.
We don’t do anything. The next generation does even less. Endlessly staring into their phones, computer games, and videos as the world passes them by. Not knowing that one day, they too will be old. With mountainous regret for all they did not do, hanging off their shoulders, until they to become the same dust as their forefathers.
Entering that endless river of sleep. Only to awake, not knowing their blase history, what they did and did not do. To generate another volume in the akashic tree, contributing nothing, consuming everything.
What fools we are. We have so much and do so little.
Rage against programming that locks you into where you are in the decade scalar from which there is no escape.
Only the mind, not the emotions.
Become an introspective philosopher while young. Undergo great pain unto almost certain death, then escape, seeing where your psyche goes. What it becomes.
Then when the programming takes you there, the fifth great decade, such things that you will do.
Such things you will do.
