I wrote this poem around 3 months ago, partially cause I was bored and partially cause words just came to me - I became a poet of the moment and the words wrote themselves. This poem is the result of the conclusion I reached after a few months of introspection about the difficult decisions I had to take. Which usually pointed towards my first principles as a person and I had to reflect on what drives me.
What would be my main source of motivation? Ambition or curiosity/drive? Do I keep myself attached to result or do things for the sake of fun of it? And do these need to be mutually exclusive of each other?
As I write this, I seek answers. I seek truth. I seek understanding. As I write this I try to develop a sense of clarity about what I seek.
This little essay that I write, isn’t something that I write to preach, rather something I write to seek. I write to clarify my overwhelmed mind that seeks the meaning.
άθλημα-ism (áthli̱maism) is a rather a misleading title for my quest to seek truth, cause it doesn’t give the whole picture, rather presents an unbaked answer.
Falling into the existential void and wondering what “the purpose of life is” is a very human thing. Indeed, it is what makes us "conscious beings" But this made me wonder why doesn't a common man wonders: what the meaning or purpose of life is?
The answer is: distractions
Not the ones you can think of, like using your phone or scrolling memes. The actual "job", "work" or "tasks" that you perform on daily basis. The goals that you are chasing. Everything is but a mere distraction from this nihilistic life. You are so engrossed in it, that you forget to wonder about who you are in the first place.
It is strange, that you can interpret meaning out of the utter meaningless dots and dashes of the screen that I somehow write. You somehow absurdly read it, and more absurdly enough, interpret and even understand what it means. Absurd, ain’t it.
Absurd ain’t it, that we just formed a consensus around it?
It was never a hard fact that a straight line (1) and another straight line will together form a strange curve and a line (2), which will represent quantifiable measures. Absurd ain’t it, that it’s so arbitrary and fragile that it could be disregarded any minute by a new consensus, yet so powerful and truthful that the world runs on it.
Axioms are beautiful. Aren’t they?