CONFOUNDED SOULS

I often sit hunched in my worn armchair, the morning light painting dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, mocking spirits. Outside, the world bustled with a clamor of car horns and chattering voices, each a testament to the absurdity that plagued my mind – an absurdity so profound, so endemic, that it threatened to suffocate me.

I am not a perfect human being, but I am cursed with clarity. It’s a peculiar burden, this ability to see the world not as it pretends to be, but as it truly is – a grand, fleeting illusion built on sand, populated by creatures chasing fleeting pleasures and ephemeral validation. The words of the old texts, the ones whispered away in hushed tones about the Creator, the Soul, and the Hereafter, resonated within me like a constant, agonizing ache. They spoke of a purpose beyond the mundane, a truth that shone with blinding brilliance next to the dim flicker of earthly existence, and yet, most were blind to it.

I watched them every day, the people, my neighbors, my co-workers, and even the faces I saw in the distant crowds. They moved through the world with a strange, detached merriment. They fussed over their careers, their social standings, and their next fleeting pleasure, their lives a whirlwind of trivialities and manufactured joy. They chased the latest trends, consumed fleeting entertainment, and poured their energy into things that would be swept away with the next gust of wind. They were like mayflies, born to bask in the light only to quickly fade away, utterly oblivious to the profound reality that stretched beyond their ephemeral existence. Their days are a restless pursuit of the next activity, which they define as happiness. They do it all with a smile and a genuine desire to please, but there is never a moment when they pause to question why.

Then there’s Eddie, my colleague, the go-getter. He’s obsessed with upward mobility, his life a constant climb up the corporate ladder. He sacrifices his time, his peace of mind, and his very essence in the pursuit of a better title and a larger paycheck. He thinks he’s securing his future, but he’s only creating a more elaborate cage, gilded with material possessions that will ultimately mean nothing. He laughs and jokes with his colleagues, and they admire him for his ambition, and they all seem genuinely happy in their collective ambition.

Their lives are a tapestry of distractions, each strand a meticulously crafted illusion. They are building castles on foundations of sand, oblivious to the encroaching tide. They laugh, they love, they fight, they suffer, all within the confines of their self-imposed reality. And they do it all with such conviction, such unwavering faith in the meaningless. It is as if they have been hypnotized, caught in a web of false hope. I see it, this absurd dance of life, and it fills me with a cold, crushing despair.

I try, I truly do, to share the burden of my knowledge, to offer a glimpse into the depths that lie beyond their chosen ignorance. I speak of the Creator, of the Soul that resides within each of us, of the Hereafter that awaits us all. But my words fall on deaf ears. They see me as an oddity, a melancholic soul, a dreamer detached from reality. They pat my shoulder with a condescending smile and return to their pursuit of temporary gratification.

“You think too much, young man,” they say. “You need to learn to live in the moment.”

Live in the moment? How can I, when I see the moment for what it is – a fleeting shadow in the grand scheme of eternity? How can I participate in their charade, in their frantic pursuit of nothing, when I know that they are all marching blindly toward oblivion?

And that, perhaps, is the cruelest part of my curse. I am not simply aware of the absurdity; I am compelled to watch it unfurl, to see humanity’s self-destruction in excruciating detail. I am a spectator at the grand tragedy of existence; I watch as the world embraces its demise, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I am but one voice crying out in the desert, and the sand continues to swallow my words without a trace.

Sometimes, late at night, when the city slumbers and the noise of the day fades away, I sit in silence, and the weight of it all becomes almost unbearable. I feel a profound sense of loneliness, of isolation, as if I am the only inhabitant of this world who has seen behind the veil. I wonder if I am truly mad, if my clarity is nothing more than a delusion. Perhaps, I think, they are the ones who have found truth in their simplicity, who have learned how to find happiness in the transient nature of life.

But then I see them again, the endless parade of smiling, ignorant faces, and the truth returns, sharp and stinging. The texts, the whispers of old, echo within me, reminding me that this is not the end, that there is something more, something beyond the veil of illusion. They are imbeciles, yes, for they willingly deny the truth, but their ignorance is not permanent. A day will come, the texts say, a Grievous Day when the veil will be lifted, and they will see the world as it truly is. On that day, their laughter will turn to wails.

And that is the only hope I have. Not for this world but for the souls that reside within it. The sleeping souls I see each day. Maybe, that day will awaken them all, and they, too, will see the truth that has become my unending burden; a burden I must bear, with all its pain and despair, as I continue to exist in this world of blissful ignorance until my own time comes. Then, I may finally have the answer to why human ignorance is so unbreakable.