Some nights, some, mornings, I lay awake or come awake with my mind full of unfinished checklists of things I need to get done in the mundane world. So oppressive. the sense of impossibility—impossible even to prioritize, let alone to do.
How do we ever get through this life? It’s as if we feel we must have each breath, each heartbeat on a To Do list, else we will die. Why do our minds betray us in this way? Why do they drag us so far away from simple animal life and death?
What we laughingly call consciousness and, worse, civilization is a horrible burden. An endless plodding, like the oxen before the plow, endlessly reaching the end of a row only to turn back the way they have come.
But to the oxen, of course, all they are doing is walking and pulling.
And so it is.