The giant grinding stone within my head churns, fed by the wind that rages outside. I close the trembling windows of the windmill. I tread carefully down the wooden stairs, as the whole edifice shivers to the cyclic tension of the furious mill. I sit by the stone, dangerously close, and I wonder whether I can stop it or not. It takes hermitage, they say. Forty days and forty nights to fast in the desert.
Day #1 - Insomnia
The noise was too loud and I couldn’t sleep until dawn was already at my doorstep. When I finally did, I had the recurring dream of being in the ocean amidst gigantic waves, helpless as they played with my tiny body. I dislike the sun, the sand and the raging waters. Why is it, then, that I dream of them so often?
Day #2 – Weariness
Try as I might, I could not slow the mill. It was a day of fruitless efforts.
Day #3 - Insight
Tired of watching the churning stone, I made my way back upstairs - lamp in hand, since a rainstorm had brought gloom to the world. Behind some broken furniture I found a box with fifteen old books. Usually I like books, but not those. They trouble me and perhaps I should burn them.
I had a silly dream about the end of the world. All of my good friends and loved ones were in it, and I was asking them what they wanted to do before the End - which was only a few hours away. I do not remember what they told me...
Day #4 - Burn!
Today I burnt one of those books for heat. It felt nice. This one was about my oldest memory and it doesn’t hurt me to see it gone. I will burn a book once every day now, until none remain.
I ponder on the nature of my situation. One might say I am too proud, and perhaps I am. However, it is not pride the main force that compels me to whatever ends I seek. I must see – I, alone – that the hardship comes to an end. As a measure of worth.
Day #5 – The Nest
I burnt one of the larger tomes today. It was about someone I met when I was almost somebody else. I once cherished it greatly, but now I am not sorry to see it gone. After that, I stumbled upon a large guilt that stood on my way downstairs. It was a nasty thing – reddish eyes, all covered in thorny scales – and apparently it had decided to make its nest on the stair. It took me all day to move it out of the way, and no time was left to mind the grindstone.
I dreamt of one night in a city surrounded by a thick forest. I had a motorcycle and explored the empty, dimly lit streets with it. One of my friends was there.
Day #6 – To Let Go
Things, when left to themselves, seldom get better. But the movement of the stone wheel became erratic by itself, and I seized a slow turn to strike at it, throwing its axis back into the proper gap. It was painful and I think I broke my shoulder and perhaps two or three ribs. I can only hope that none of them stabs me in the heart.
The book I burnt today was on noble things, virtue, and a ghost that rides in the wind. It was a tale I liked, but I’m not sad to see it gone.
Day #7 - Nothing Lasts
The mill has become steady in its movement, somewhat slower and more predictable - yet I have no hope to halt it with my bare arms. I will have to devise another method.
Every person is saved by someone else at least a few times in their lives. Or so it was written in the book I burnt today. To save in order to be saved. Altruism. Gratitude. Even though I value those, the book was part of something that I wish to end, therefore I must not suffer to see it gone.
Day #8 - Finally anger
Nothing I do works properly. No contrivance, no plan whatsoever carefully devised. Everything's falling short all the time, all the time, always predictable, bypassable, flawed, poorly assembled, impractical, problematic, antiquated, mediocre, unlucky and mostly not measuring up to expectations. That won't do.
When you are angry, something's gotta burn. Even the most sensible advice undergoes a sudden lack of meaning. That is why I'm now seeing the best of those fifteen books to its ashes - and it doesn't hurt me to do so.
Day #9 - On demons
I long for serenity and peace. I hunger for those things like a starved castaway. All this noise and turbulence troubles me out of my reason. I’ll write no more today, save that I fed another book to the flames - a terrible one, written in blood, full of demonic evocations (metaphorically speaking?). A little of me goes with it.
Day #10 – Yes, surely
I began to build a new contraption with which I intend to bring the problematic wheel to a halt. I have gathered all I need for its construction, and now I am ready to begin. Few people know how fond I am of building things. I cannot say I could blame anyone for being unaware of that, for it’s an aspect of mine that’s been seldom displayed.
One who learns how to build must also learn how to raze and rebuild. That is especially true when it comes to the old buildings of childhood, which is why I burnt this book today; for it may come a time when the old home becomes haunted in a way that leaves little room for choice, and you must – regrettably, yet surely – see it gone.
Day #11 – Mind override
Some people argue that physical pain is a good antidote to the torments of mind and spirit. Maybe it is so. And even though the bodily collapse provides merely a temporary shelter from the hazards of tainted wisdom, it buys precious time which must be seized.
Of course, much – though not everything – is suppressed by such method. For all that remains, there are always the blazes. With that in mind, I could bring myself to incinerate a book that I might not have been able to, weren’t the weariness of my body providing me with the necessary resolve. It is always hard to part with things that are dual in nature, like those which might lead both to inspiration and despair. And this is the proverbial case of the excessively sharpened blade which turns fragile.
Day #12 – Esteem
Even though I am confined by force of circumstances, there are certain windows through which I may still be aware of things that take place beyond the boundaries of this temporary hermitage. Peeking through these windows has become a cruel pastime – which I should learn to avert, lest I forget the purpose of all this.
Today, however, I knew of tidings that made me halt my work and put down my tools. Although such tidings were deeply disruptive, I couldn’t bring myself to be displeased at the fact that I left windows opened. I sat on the dust and dwelt in memories awhile (the good times that never return). No book shall burn this day.
Day #13 – Dislike
I like to think of myself as a man who learns from his mistakes. A slow learner at that, perhaps, but a dilligent one nonetheless. That is why I am partly grateful for those who mock me for being – as one might put it – excessively sober. Half of me agrees that in fact there is a time to be sober and there is a time to lighten up; the other half, however, simply loathes being put to the test, and resents it deeply. Those halves weight more or less the same in my final judgment, but you know what? I do not like practical jokes.
I had an epiphany today, and I really hope I can carry out its implications. First of all, no more time for bullshit. No more half-heartedness. Secondly, I’ve shut all the windows, which is merely the correction of a previous mistake – I really should’ve known better. Finally, back to scorching those accursed books. This one had an interesting plot, but the tale of the sea demon is old and hell, no one’s going to miss it. Let it burn.
Day #14 – No forge
The vast gap between theory and practice is only realized by those who attempt to cross it. The effort is enormous, and the will is a piece of steel that resists the heat of the blacksmith’s furnace. It must be shaped cold.
I didn’t realize the sea demon was such a recurring theme until I began disposing of these miserable books. I just fed another one to the flames, and not the last one that was written on the demonic fiend. In time, I should see them all gone.
Day #15 – I could sleep
This was a good, fruitful day. When it was ended, I plunged into a dreamless sleep, a much needed respite in the old succession of vigil and weird nightmares.
Yet another tome burnt, one that held perhaps the most significant secret. I once wrote “secrets are meant to be kept or forgotten”. True to my word, I’ll see that this one is forgotten.
Day #16 – Cardboard clouds
Today everything went more silently. Even the windmill was grinding quietly, steady though it spun. And I was left alone to confabulate with my convictions. In days like this there’s an unnatural stillness hanging in the air, like cardboard clouds in a bleak stage setting for a long tedious monologue.
This wasn’t a good day to find contradictions in what I’m doing. I’ll say that I only orchestrate the demise of my silly little fancies and secrets to appease a pathological hunger for order; a ceremony of parting. But enough of that. It is no one’s business but mine. I fed more pages to the flames, these one containing song and poetry I used to be highly fond of. But no verse, no melody – nor any other aesthetic manifestation – is more soothing or beautiful than a flickering flame.
Day #17 – Change
The book was on hope and righteous anger. It holds more meaning now as flames than it ever held as a book, and through the act of burning it conveys the high gist of transcendence. By the logic behind the metaphor it is clear that I too should burn.
Day #18 – The lost and the forgotten
I dreamt that I walked among ancient idols of a forgotten pantheon. The gods were resentful that they had been forsaken by their human worshippers, but I knew it wasn’t about lack of devotion – for Death had long reaped the lives of the faithful. And isn’t it so that, given enough time, all that "is" must tread the path of oblivion? Given the proper perspective, isn’t all so very fleeting – even the gods themselves? And if gods are all-knowing, they ought to be the most miserable beings in all Creation – for in knowledge there is truth, but in truth there is little comfort.
Inspired by that dream, I chose to burn the book on the short-lived treasure of “ignorance”, which is oftentimes referred to as “innocence”. Perhaps the word “ignorance” was coined by hypocrites to make others feel guilty of being “innocent”. At any rate, when two or more people gather to discuss which is which and what is lost and what is gained, none of them are innocent anymore.
Day #19 - Time Erases All
Thankfully, my stock of books is running thin. The endeavor of burning them has made me weary – When it’s done, I will never have to read them again. And though the memory may haunt me, books without pages are like people with no faces. Tempus edax rerum.
I meant this tome to be the last to burn – for it is a fine compilation and in many ways it reflects what’s contained in the whole collection – but then I changed my mind.
Day #20 – Inflection
The days seem endless within the windmill. The ceaseless droning of the wheel. The everlasting reddish afternoons. The constant whispering in the casements, and recently a dripping sound developed somewhere.
The last book begins to smolder and crack inside the fireplace, and all I can think of is a poem by Robert Frost, entitled “Fire and Ice”. I recite it to myself a few times (it is a very short one, thus easy to learn by heart). I burnt it last because it was the last one I wrote. Just as the first one to burn was the first one that was written. Everything that happened midway was a complete mess, and I´m fine with that – because it makes the most sense. See? Nothing is random.
The sea advances and the sea retreats. Breathe in, breathe out. High tide and low tide. Narrowing and distention. This is the very middle of the cycle, the eye of the hurricane, the apex of the tidal wave when it’s just about to break. It is a beautiful place to stand, except that it’s not exactly a place, but rather an idea. Whatever happened so far, the complete opposite should take place from now on. The cycle is unrelenting.
Day #21 - Fear
“The cartoon moment when gravity waits for the coyote to realize his mistake before the plunge”
Day #22 – Obstruction
I have gathered all the tools and the raw material. Slowly I’m making room for the new contraption, but every time I’m about to start assembling it – I can’t. The air thickens, the light fails and the foundations of the mill quiver in protest. Is there any will other than mine struggling against what I’m trying to accomplish? I do not comprehend why this is so difficult.
Day #23 - Hindrance
Nothing will be achieved if I cannot find the obstruction and remove it. As of now, my will is all bent on that.
Day #24 - Concern
The problem still stands. I'm terribly aware that I'm doomed to this evil stasis in windless waters forever, should I not be able to repair the anomaly. I've looked everywhere, with no result. It must be something indeed overly subtle and elusive... And the possibility of not ever overcoming this particular setback is nightmarish.
Day #25 – Method
I need to calm down and think my way through this.
Day #26 - Momentum
One more day without progress. The idea behind the windmill is the imagery of the cycle and its dimensions. Something so immense that cannot be halted or – if it was stopped, be put to full motion – easily or with a limited or small set of stimuli. It obeys the laws of inertia – therefore, the swooping arms of the windmill are endowed with the cycle’s own devastating momentum. To dissipate the forces involved and finally defy the cyclic inertia requires the comprehension of dislocation, the true aspect of change which does not reveal itself merely overnight. It means that everything which aspires to greatness must begin slowly and maintain a steady course – not straying, never straying, and become firm on its purpose, that it might grow its own momentum. This is what I have learned so far.
Day #27 - Dysfunction
My eyes fail me - thus adding to the list of things I need to fix. Perhaps without them I am allowed towards a more insightful position.
Day #28 – Patterns
When your *mind* becomes obsessed with something, you will filter everything else out and find that thing everywhere. Could be a name, a number, a symbol, a memory, any amount of them – bound as links to keep the cycle whole. Surely as its pendulum sways forth and back, the mechanism’s wheels spin to display simulacra of the cycle in preordained, maybe predictable manners. By learning them, I mean to complete the manufacture of a new device.
Day #29 – Breakthrough
At long last, I managed to locate the source of the obstruction, and removed small parts of it with great effort. It runs within the walls of the windmill, and I will not waste time seeking to describe its nature. I should work ceaselessly to see that this plague, this… cancer, is removed.
Day #30 – Perspective
Today something took place that I thought would not happen – One of my brothers sought me. Whereas I deemed such event highly unlikely, it was not without gratitude that I welcomed the visitation. At the same time, I realize that it might have been inconsiderate of me to leave without giving word of what was intended. But to mend this oversight, I plan to leave my hermitage tomorrow. Briefly.
Perhaps it is also the time to recall the sensible advice of another friend – who says I should soften my ways and not presume to make the battle of a man against the world out of my life. Even though I have never intended such war, it is forceful to admit I was moving at a steady pace towards that scenario.
Day #31 - Recess
As planned, I left the windmill for today. As I walked away from it, everything that I had accomplished so far seemed suddenly very silly. All the little conjectures and progresses. All small things. I felt short sighted and feeble, though the resolve to carry out what I started is simply unmovable. At least this I know; that even though ghosts of weakness might hover about me – my determination is resilient, impervious to it. That even if I bend, I cannot break. What others may call obsession, I call method. It makes me extremely strong.
The company of my brothers is, perhaps, the only true comfort I have left. Severing myself from their presence is in order, if that is what it takes to keep that in mind. Or at least that is what I say to myself, when my spirit demands the soothing potion of justification.
When I returned to the silent rooms of the windmill, I dreamed of a gargantuan maze. Many were lost within it, and of those I did not know the identities. The endless halls and corridors were replete with deadly contraptions which cleaved and obliterated their human victims before my eyes, I myself barely escaping most of them. It was a lengthy, realistic nightmare. I took the lead of a small group of survivors and we ventured through the bizarre labyrinth for a long time, but the dream was ended before we could escape.
Someday close to day #35 - End of Spin
I abandoned the diary when I realized it became pointless. Somewhere near the renewed spin of the cycle I got stuck between the wheels’ teeth. I fought the only battle worth fighting, in spite of the overwhelming odds – and I wielded a true belief that I could prevail. Perhaps that is why it feels so strange that I didn’t. No matter how valiant the effort was – it was not a battle for prestige, and in my brave failure there is not honor nor virtue, only a bitter defeat. In the doubtful moment of my brightest hope, I was crushed. And how oddly familiar if feels.
Day #1 - Insomnia
The noise was too loud and I couldn’t sleep until dawn was already at my doorstep. When I finally did, I had the recurring dream of being in the ocean amidst gigantic waves, helpless as they played with my tiny body. I dislike the sun, the sand and the raging waters. Why is it, then, that I dream of them so often?
Day #2 – Weariness
Try as I might, I could not slow the mill. It was a day of fruitless efforts.
Day #3 - Insight
Tired of watching the churning stone, I made my way back upstairs - lamp in hand, since a rainstorm had brought gloom to the world. Behind some broken furniture I found a box with fifteen old books. Usually I like books, but not those. They trouble me and perhaps I should burn them.
I had a silly dream about the end of the world. All of my good friends and loved ones were in it, and I was asking them what they wanted to do before the End - which was only a few hours away. I do not remember what they told me...
Day #4 - Burn!
Today I burnt one of those books for heat. It felt nice. This one was about my oldest memory and it doesn’t hurt me to see it gone. I will burn a book once every day now, until none remain.
I ponder on the nature of my situation. One might say I am too proud, and perhaps I am. However, it is not pride the main force that compels me to whatever ends I seek. I must see – I, alone – that the hardship comes to an end. As a measure of worth.
Day #5 – The Nest
I burnt one of the larger tomes today. It was about someone I met when I was almost somebody else. I once cherished it greatly, but now I am not sorry to see it gone. After that, I stumbled upon a large guilt that stood on my way downstairs. It was a nasty thing – reddish eyes, all covered in thorny scales – and apparently it had decided to make its nest on the stair. It took me all day to move it out of the way, and no time was left to mind the grindstone.
I dreamt of one night in a city surrounded by a thick forest. I had a motorcycle and explored the empty, dimly lit streets with it. One of my friends was there.
Day #6 – To Let Go
Things, when left to themselves, seldom get better. But the movement of the stone wheel became erratic by itself, and I seized a slow turn to strike at it, throwing its axis back into the proper gap. It was painful and I think I broke my shoulder and perhaps two or three ribs. I can only hope that none of them stabs me in the heart.
The book I burnt today was on noble things, virtue, and a ghost that rides in the wind. It was a tale I liked, but I’m not sad to see it gone.
Day #7 - Nothing Lasts
The mill has become steady in its movement, somewhat slower and more predictable - yet I have no hope to halt it with my bare arms. I will have to devise another method.
Every person is saved by someone else at least a few times in their lives. Or so it was written in the book I burnt today. To save in order to be saved. Altruism. Gratitude. Even though I value those, the book was part of something that I wish to end, therefore I must not suffer to see it gone.
Day #8 - Finally anger
Nothing I do works properly. No contrivance, no plan whatsoever carefully devised. Everything's falling short all the time, all the time, always predictable, bypassable, flawed, poorly assembled, impractical, problematic, antiquated, mediocre, unlucky and mostly not measuring up to expectations. That won't do.
When you are angry, something's gotta burn. Even the most sensible advice undergoes a sudden lack of meaning. That is why I'm now seeing the best of those fifteen books to its ashes - and it doesn't hurt me to do so.
Day #9 - On demons
I long for serenity and peace. I hunger for those things like a starved castaway. All this noise and turbulence troubles me out of my reason. I’ll write no more today, save that I fed another book to the flames - a terrible one, written in blood, full of demonic evocations (metaphorically speaking?). A little of me goes with it.
Day #10 – Yes, surely
I began to build a new contraption with which I intend to bring the problematic wheel to a halt. I have gathered all I need for its construction, and now I am ready to begin. Few people know how fond I am of building things. I cannot say I could blame anyone for being unaware of that, for it’s an aspect of mine that’s been seldom displayed.
One who learns how to build must also learn how to raze and rebuild. That is especially true when it comes to the old buildings of childhood, which is why I burnt this book today; for it may come a time when the old home becomes haunted in a way that leaves little room for choice, and you must – regrettably, yet surely – see it gone.
Day #11 – Mind override
Some people argue that physical pain is a good antidote to the torments of mind and spirit. Maybe it is so. And even though the bodily collapse provides merely a temporary shelter from the hazards of tainted wisdom, it buys precious time which must be seized.
Of course, much – though not everything – is suppressed by such method. For all that remains, there are always the blazes. With that in mind, I could bring myself to incinerate a book that I might not have been able to, weren’t the weariness of my body providing me with the necessary resolve. It is always hard to part with things that are dual in nature, like those which might lead both to inspiration and despair. And this is the proverbial case of the excessively sharpened blade which turns fragile.
Day #12 – Esteem
Even though I am confined by force of circumstances, there are certain windows through which I may still be aware of things that take place beyond the boundaries of this temporary hermitage. Peeking through these windows has become a cruel pastime – which I should learn to avert, lest I forget the purpose of all this.
Today, however, I knew of tidings that made me halt my work and put down my tools. Although such tidings were deeply disruptive, I couldn’t bring myself to be displeased at the fact that I left windows opened. I sat on the dust and dwelt in memories awhile (the good times that never return). No book shall burn this day.
Day #13 – Dislike
I like to think of myself as a man who learns from his mistakes. A slow learner at that, perhaps, but a dilligent one nonetheless. That is why I am partly grateful for those who mock me for being – as one might put it – excessively sober. Half of me agrees that in fact there is a time to be sober and there is a time to lighten up; the other half, however, simply loathes being put to the test, and resents it deeply. Those halves weight more or less the same in my final judgment, but you know what? I do not like practical jokes.
I had an epiphany today, and I really hope I can carry out its implications. First of all, no more time for bullshit. No more half-heartedness. Secondly, I’ve shut all the windows, which is merely the correction of a previous mistake – I really should’ve known better. Finally, back to scorching those accursed books. This one had an interesting plot, but the tale of the sea demon is old and hell, no one’s going to miss it. Let it burn.
Day #14 – No forge
The vast gap between theory and practice is only realized by those who attempt to cross it. The effort is enormous, and the will is a piece of steel that resists the heat of the blacksmith’s furnace. It must be shaped cold.
I didn’t realize the sea demon was such a recurring theme until I began disposing of these miserable books. I just fed another one to the flames, and not the last one that was written on the demonic fiend. In time, I should see them all gone.
Day #15 – I could sleep
This was a good, fruitful day. When it was ended, I plunged into a dreamless sleep, a much needed respite in the old succession of vigil and weird nightmares.
Yet another tome burnt, one that held perhaps the most significant secret. I once wrote “secrets are meant to be kept or forgotten”. True to my word, I’ll see that this one is forgotten.
Day #16 – Cardboard clouds
Today everything went more silently. Even the windmill was grinding quietly, steady though it spun. And I was left alone to confabulate with my convictions. In days like this there’s an unnatural stillness hanging in the air, like cardboard clouds in a bleak stage setting for a long tedious monologue.
This wasn’t a good day to find contradictions in what I’m doing. I’ll say that I only orchestrate the demise of my silly little fancies and secrets to appease a pathological hunger for order; a ceremony of parting. But enough of that. It is no one’s business but mine. I fed more pages to the flames, these one containing song and poetry I used to be highly fond of. But no verse, no melody – nor any other aesthetic manifestation – is more soothing or beautiful than a flickering flame.
Day #17 – Change
The book was on hope and righteous anger. It holds more meaning now as flames than it ever held as a book, and through the act of burning it conveys the high gist of transcendence. By the logic behind the metaphor it is clear that I too should burn.
Day #18 – The lost and the forgotten
I dreamt that I walked among ancient idols of a forgotten pantheon. The gods were resentful that they had been forsaken by their human worshippers, but I knew it wasn’t about lack of devotion – for Death had long reaped the lives of the faithful. And isn’t it so that, given enough time, all that "is" must tread the path of oblivion? Given the proper perspective, isn’t all so very fleeting – even the gods themselves? And if gods are all-knowing, they ought to be the most miserable beings in all Creation – for in knowledge there is truth, but in truth there is little comfort.
Inspired by that dream, I chose to burn the book on the short-lived treasure of “ignorance”, which is oftentimes referred to as “innocence”. Perhaps the word “ignorance” was coined by hypocrites to make others feel guilty of being “innocent”. At any rate, when two or more people gather to discuss which is which and what is lost and what is gained, none of them are innocent anymore.
Day #19 - Time Erases All
Thankfully, my stock of books is running thin. The endeavor of burning them has made me weary – When it’s done, I will never have to read them again. And though the memory may haunt me, books without pages are like people with no faces. Tempus edax rerum.
I meant this tome to be the last to burn – for it is a fine compilation and in many ways it reflects what’s contained in the whole collection – but then I changed my mind.
Day #20 – Inflection
The days seem endless within the windmill. The ceaseless droning of the wheel. The everlasting reddish afternoons. The constant whispering in the casements, and recently a dripping sound developed somewhere.
The last book begins to smolder and crack inside the fireplace, and all I can think of is a poem by Robert Frost, entitled “Fire and Ice”. I recite it to myself a few times (it is a very short one, thus easy to learn by heart). I burnt it last because it was the last one I wrote. Just as the first one to burn was the first one that was written. Everything that happened midway was a complete mess, and I´m fine with that – because it makes the most sense. See? Nothing is random.
The sea advances and the sea retreats. Breathe in, breathe out. High tide and low tide. Narrowing and distention. This is the very middle of the cycle, the eye of the hurricane, the apex of the tidal wave when it’s just about to break. It is a beautiful place to stand, except that it’s not exactly a place, but rather an idea. Whatever happened so far, the complete opposite should take place from now on. The cycle is unrelenting.
Day #21 - Fear
“The cartoon moment when gravity waits for the coyote to realize his mistake before the plunge”
Day #22 – Obstruction
I have gathered all the tools and the raw material. Slowly I’m making room for the new contraption, but every time I’m about to start assembling it – I can’t. The air thickens, the light fails and the foundations of the mill quiver in protest. Is there any will other than mine struggling against what I’m trying to accomplish? I do not comprehend why this is so difficult.
Day #23 - Hindrance
Nothing will be achieved if I cannot find the obstruction and remove it. As of now, my will is all bent on that.
Day #24 - Concern
The problem still stands. I'm terribly aware that I'm doomed to this evil stasis in windless waters forever, should I not be able to repair the anomaly. I've looked everywhere, with no result. It must be something indeed overly subtle and elusive... And the possibility of not ever overcoming this particular setback is nightmarish.
Day #25 – Method
I need to calm down and think my way through this.
Day #26 - Momentum
One more day without progress. The idea behind the windmill is the imagery of the cycle and its dimensions. Something so immense that cannot be halted or – if it was stopped, be put to full motion – easily or with a limited or small set of stimuli. It obeys the laws of inertia – therefore, the swooping arms of the windmill are endowed with the cycle’s own devastating momentum. To dissipate the forces involved and finally defy the cyclic inertia requires the comprehension of dislocation, the true aspect of change which does not reveal itself merely overnight. It means that everything which aspires to greatness must begin slowly and maintain a steady course – not straying, never straying, and become firm on its purpose, that it might grow its own momentum. This is what I have learned so far.
Day #27 - Dysfunction
My eyes fail me - thus adding to the list of things I need to fix. Perhaps without them I am allowed towards a more insightful position.
Day #28 – Patterns
When your *mind* becomes obsessed with something, you will filter everything else out and find that thing everywhere. Could be a name, a number, a symbol, a memory, any amount of them – bound as links to keep the cycle whole. Surely as its pendulum sways forth and back, the mechanism’s wheels spin to display simulacra of the cycle in preordained, maybe predictable manners. By learning them, I mean to complete the manufacture of a new device.
Day #29 – Breakthrough
At long last, I managed to locate the source of the obstruction, and removed small parts of it with great effort. It runs within the walls of the windmill, and I will not waste time seeking to describe its nature. I should work ceaselessly to see that this plague, this… cancer, is removed.
Day #30 – Perspective
Today something took place that I thought would not happen – One of my brothers sought me. Whereas I deemed such event highly unlikely, it was not without gratitude that I welcomed the visitation. At the same time, I realize that it might have been inconsiderate of me to leave without giving word of what was intended. But to mend this oversight, I plan to leave my hermitage tomorrow. Briefly.
Perhaps it is also the time to recall the sensible advice of another friend – who says I should soften my ways and not presume to make the battle of a man against the world out of my life. Even though I have never intended such war, it is forceful to admit I was moving at a steady pace towards that scenario.
Day #31 - Recess
As planned, I left the windmill for today. As I walked away from it, everything that I had accomplished so far seemed suddenly very silly. All the little conjectures and progresses. All small things. I felt short sighted and feeble, though the resolve to carry out what I started is simply unmovable. At least this I know; that even though ghosts of weakness might hover about me – my determination is resilient, impervious to it. That even if I bend, I cannot break. What others may call obsession, I call method. It makes me extremely strong.
The company of my brothers is, perhaps, the only true comfort I have left. Severing myself from their presence is in order, if that is what it takes to keep that in mind. Or at least that is what I say to myself, when my spirit demands the soothing potion of justification.
When I returned to the silent rooms of the windmill, I dreamed of a gargantuan maze. Many were lost within it, and of those I did not know the identities. The endless halls and corridors were replete with deadly contraptions which cleaved and obliterated their human victims before my eyes, I myself barely escaping most of them. It was a lengthy, realistic nightmare. I took the lead of a small group of survivors and we ventured through the bizarre labyrinth for a long time, but the dream was ended before we could escape.
Someday close to day #35 - End of Spin
I abandoned the diary when I realized it became pointless. Somewhere near the renewed spin of the cycle I got stuck between the wheels’ teeth. I fought the only battle worth fighting, in spite of the overwhelming odds – and I wielded a true belief that I could prevail. Perhaps that is why it feels so strange that I didn’t. No matter how valiant the effort was – it was not a battle for prestige, and in my brave failure there is not honor nor virtue, only a bitter defeat. In the doubtful moment of my brightest hope, I was crushed. And how oddly familiar if feels.