In the beginning was the mind, and the mind was God.
Thoughts follow the labyrinthine path of the lazy day-dreamer paying attention only to the beauty of the stunning views on the way, ever forgetting to docket the geography and form of the landmarks.
The mind moves so fast that it spreads along its path in the form of a python, ever so long, getting longer by each passing moment, losing sight of its tail. It writhes this way and that in an attempt to unearth some secret, which it doesn't know by any of the five senses, nor by the cognition of its mind.
There is fear in the writhing. There is fear in the restlessness. There is fear in the maniacal pace by which it proceeds in a methodical manner, yet so seemingly random to the conscious mind. It fears the secret.
The convolution of the path it follows, the growing length of its body, partly due to the unwillingness of the latter parts to remove themselves from the scene they are part of, and the speed at which it moves, defeats it, enslaving it in a Gordian knot.
In this metaphysical prison, it makes futile attempts to move—to break free, fully knowing that death will be it's only hope—if not of complete freedom, at least of an existence where the secret is of no concern—the hope for a freedom arising from indifference.
The movements it attempts, yet doesn't make, are signs of the fear. For they are definitely the sign of rebellion against its current predicament. When there is acceptance of fate, fear is void—a non-entity. Rebellion is the sign of fear. It could be. It might be...
In the beginning was the sea and the sea was without wind and the sea was without tides. The physical struggles of the mind from underneath causes ripples on the surface,
of Artistic Expression, where it is in pursuit of happiness, where happiness is that secret, where attainment of the secret is possible only through mastering the secret, where the elation of the mind should reach such proportions when the extremity of emotional expression will annihilate the walls of the prison;
of Scientific Exploration, where methodical and objective analysis of the universe will help the mind travel beyond the curtains of space-time and reach the ultimate truth—the ultimate axiom, which is conquered by understanding it, where the secret is mastered by identifying it;
of Sporting Endeavor, where there happens the marriage of the mind and the body in an attempt to control fate and circumstances, where mastery over another of the same kind in the same attempt will bring forth victory, an allegory of victory over the secret and annulment of the fear, for when one is better than all others in the attempt to unveil the secret, what has one to fear, so long as there are others of the same kind?
It is fear that drives, the fear that manifests in actions, and it is indeed this fear that becomes irrelevant by death.
Sometimes, recognition of this fear is the ultimate pleasure.