Midas Touches Himself

2022-02-26

"... freedom is never wrested away, it is forever a choice which we just gift away." The tragedy of the modern day work place is its uncanny ability to numb souls. Oh jobs give purpose, direction, sustenance. But the price to be paid is often exacting. It’s a dichotomous entity - both a portal to freedom and an entrapment, a privilege of accomplishment and a secret that erodes, a means to stability and an illusion of permanence, the shimmer of independence and the reality of a cul-de-sac. There is so mu...

"... freedom is never wrested away,

it is forever a choice which we just gift away."

The tragedy of the modern day work place is its uncanny ability to numb souls. Oh jobs give purpose, direction, sustenance. But the price to be paid is often exacting. It’s a dichotomous entity - both a portal to freedom and an entrapment, a privilege of accomplishment and a secret that erodes, a means to stability and an illusion of permanence, the shimmer of independence and the reality of a cul-de-sac. There is so much which we demand of a job forgetting that it demands equally of us. There is no free ride in this world and the money, perks, and position which are required to put one’s body and soul together in fact delinks the body from the soul.

What is this dichotomy, this reality of heights attached with acrophobia? What is this desperate need for power and privilege and the inability to hold on to the spoils? The desperate cry to be held when the heights bring distance without the insight, when the hunger to be understood often leads to a life full of hiatuses.

What are we if not beings subsumed in the search for meaning? To earn is often the mistaken first step to fullness, without knowing that it is also the first step away from fulfilment. What is it about the modern work place that it erodes our souls so? That embedded within its necessities is the entire armament of destruction. It is so easy to live wrapped up in the beatific illusion of privilege with all its accruements, when the very marrow of our souls has been exacted as it’s price.

We often don’t even know what we’ve become. On the wings of accolades, we mistake living for life. Are we fools to be fooled or we know no other way to approach life than what we’ve been trained to do? We are often no more than what our jobs demand and give. The fog inside us grows so thick that we don’t recognize our own charred selves, as we put ourselves on a mantel covered in gold and silver. We are our very own Midas.

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