Oh the Cruelest Blessing is Reason!

Oh, the cruelest blessing is Reason! Able to conceive perfection, but thrust infinitely apart from grappling such an unadulterated Good. Translucent shimmer of eternal clarity looms in the mind of man, yet day and night still chase the other in endless toil. Time and space rip my soul from tasting the impalpable wonder of this mystery; a mystery that equally inspires all fearful fumbling and frustration as well as hopeful feelings of freedom. I speak of an ancient memory that has slept in the soul of man since upon birth, before there was ever even a thing to be forgotten. Yet how can I declare any such a thought! The stamina of my intellect is tired and frail. The world is blunt and savage, and ready to wring out all transcendent yearning. The world is not what reason demands it to be; reason is what the world demands it to be. And what is reason’s aim, but to find a source to blame for the pain of being? What greater source of pain than the frightful knowledge of mortality and the mystery of the immortal, which man whimsically hopes to conquer. Truth eludes the impulsive finger that points to the shadows; the finger of a fool so deluded as to assume that it bears a ray of light capable of penetrating the uncertain haze of that final night. Man thinks his mind a glowing ember able to illuminate the farthest end of infinitude, but its spark casts off the shroud of darkness only in the present, while all recollection of the journey hitherto remains enveloped in that wicked cloak of uncertain origin. Yet Man cannot retract, for the corridors that led him here have crumbled from behind his heels upon every step gestured towards that ineffable light which beckons him forward. Etched in the mind of man is a map through which logic will direct this endless pilgrimage. Reason is the helpful curse; the serpent’s venom that coursed through our veins, clouded our vision, and tainted our innocence, yet remains the only cure for the disease of ignorance.