towards a deconflation

Introspection identifies me as a western man in a western world. It also isolates and diagnoses the catalyst for the cancer eating away the mesh of my essence. It is the condition of being a western man in a western world. I would sooner amputate my own arm, by any means available, than let my own unruly hand slowly choke the life from my lungs. As such, I thus forth, repeatedly and continually, vow a promulgation - a disclosure of my intent and discontent. Let it be known that my intentions are nothing short of leeching the cancer from my essence. I am divorcing the condition of being a western man in and of a western world.

The divorce is inaugurated with a confession: I am not the master of my body or thoughts. I cannot control my desires and whims. What is "self" in the face of such a condition? The audacity of having expectations without having discipline or restraint is staggering. I am quite simply adrift. I have tossed the oars in the water. I have removed the rudder and carved it into a wooden puppet that wants to be a real boy. I spread before me maps of places I have never been, but have read about, heard about, or dreamt of. I carefully choose from among the destinations and then I run to the front of the ship in eager anticipation of my arrival. It is amazing how much time can pass in the doldrums when one is sufficiently distracted.