Time at first, for this child is nothing more than NOW, tomorrow at best, in case he is some kind of visionary...and NOW is lived to the maximum, no regrets, no doubts, as such notions are still outside the child's universe. Ironically as it may seem, as time passes, with discovery come regrets, doubts and a lot more questions and insecurities. The wonders he used to see in that pair of blue eyes, in the gentle gestures of that hand have long faded away....The child's eyes have, in the meantime, adapted to the dark... and while seeing in the dark, the light blinds him to the point of hurting him.
This darkness has become his daily reality, the horizons, he once dreamed of exploring, have brought but clouds and shadows and unclear lines... the shapes of things have lost their line, the meanings have altered and the child, a man now, has started seeking comfort in his routine. Routine and certain things have come to rule his life now...The miracles of soul and mind, the aspiration for a better self through exploration and reverence for the others, the faith that needs no proof the child used to have are no longer there.....
Instead, you have a burdened man, wandering about aimlessly.... he would, once in a while, feel he has a purpose in everything he does, but watched from above, or outside, he would probably be nothing more than an ant after its mound has been just carried away by waters. And despite all these insecurities and wandering into the dark....he would still take this over the delicate line of light he barely sees at the horizon...it has become a matter of habit and daily routine for him...he's quite comfortable as long as he finds other ants just like him, or even worse...he can become even the king of his "mound"...why go beyond, into something which would surely somehow, challenge him, to a point where he no longer wants to go back- the first years of his life, when things were much simpler, and yet so much closer to that line of light? After all, he has turned into a cynical who has seen evil outside the pages of a book, and who, lo longer
protected by the magical hands of his mother, has suffered pain and loneliness, and desperation and who, thus, has come to find comfort in shallowness, pettiness, turning his back to the light. He's too afraid and ashamed and burdened and lonely to ever tread towards the light- he couldn't find the path anyway...he's like the captain of a ship during a storm...you see the lighthouse somewhere at great distance, but winds and waves and fear of rocky cliffs will keep him away forever...or what it seemed forever. Eventually he will end up the shore, but by the time he finally gets there he's powerless- an old man looking back at all his aimless wandering, trembling with disease and hesitation, his mind already in the fog of time.
