While
I am well satisfied with this, I am reminded of the clothes of a certain
schoolboy, dressed with no ordinary care and splendor, of slaves bedecked with
gold and a whole regiment of glittering attendants.
I
think of houses too, where one treads on precious stones, and where valuables
lie about in every corner, where the very roof is brilliantly painted, and a
whole nation attends and accompanies an inheritance on the road to ruin. What
shall I say of waters, transparent to the very bottom, which flow round the
guests, and banquets worthy of the theatre in which they take place?
Coming
as I do from a long course of dull thrift, I find myself surrounded by the most
brilliant luxury, which echoes around me on every side. My sight becomes a
little dazzled by it. I can lift up my heart against it more easily than my
eyes.
A life of temperance, of moderation,
and of simplicity makes complete sense in my head. It has also, whenever I have
found the discipline to practice it, been the most peaceful and satisfying kind
of life I have ever known.
It’s hardly as if my intellect is in
open war with my passions; I both know and feel the true and the good in it,
deep down inside of me. The mind and the heart both agree, giving me that firm
and contented nod of approval.
So where is that itch coming from?
Why do I find that itch so hard to scratch?
Something within me is still
mightily impressed by grandeur, by luxury, and by showing off. I understand
quite well that I should look away, but my eyes seem pulled back toward all of
that, time and time again.
It’s much like those classic horror
movies of my youth, where you know the foolish teenager will meet a terrible
and bloody end in but a moment. You cover your eyes, but you still peek out
through your fingers.
I know I should not want a life of
decadence, and I remember how miserable I felt whenever I pursued any of that.
Still, I read about the celebrities with their elaborate parties, their
extravagant mansions, and their private jets. It still captivates me, and so it
also gives me a sense of unease.
Perhaps it is the unconscious desire
for mere gratification, in the face of all else that I value? Perhaps it is the
pull of old habits, struggling against my more recent convictions? Perhaps it
is really just the need to follow along with the popular crowd, to do things
the way everyone else seems to do them?
It is certainly difficult to go one
way, when the world around you goes another. Is that the tiny annoying flea
causing the itch?
Whatever the case, I find it rather
irritating. I’m not sure where it comes from, so I’m not sure where to find a
cure.
Written in 4/2011
No comments:
Post a Comment