Can a mind that never sinks
into the cold gray waters of boredom ever rise to
the blue-and-gold heavens of ecstasy?
No, for as Icarus well knows, the price of soaring high
is
falling,
sinking,
like a leaden stone.
The light cannot exist without the abyss,
but taking the plunge is worth it.
Isn't it?
Can that pervasive ennui be avoided?
Some may say that mediocrity is safest,
that by failing to climb
one fails to fall.
But is this any better?
For Dante, Hell starts with the end
of joy, of thought, of hope.
Boredom may exist in a different circle,
but to live with no thought is to
abandon all hope.
Ye who enter here,
beware of living in shadow.
Aspire to great heights
and do not, as I have, attempt to shut yourself in an ivory tower,
to seek constant knowledge and interest,
for the tower is an illusion — it serves no protection
against either the pain of lassitude or the stagnation of mediocrity.
Instead learn to accept the good with the bad,
be willing to rot in a fugue of boredom,
if it means learning, and experiencing, and enjoying
all that comes after.