Monday, January 23, 2006

Memories of a small-time speculator on the game of life

No matter how much you try, no matter how pure your actions and thoughts, no matter how perfect your chess moves, half of it is still pure luck. And when you go into a losing streak the best is just to leave the game for a while. Except that when the game is life, you have no choice but to stick around and take it.

Victory is a game of fools. Victorious imbeciles will parade their wins like they had something to do with it, when most of the time they had no knowledge of even half of the game. The dice just smiled on them, that's all.

To make a life out of the need for victory is philosophically dirty. It is a coward's illusion. And some lucky cowards will not even have to wake from it. They will shun enlightenment for the warmth of the jackpot. A mortal man has no business needing victory. Death and old age will rob him of every illusion anyway.

All victories being fleeting, the only true and lasting one is simply this: to make your skin so strong, to build the scar tissue so thick, that you can face every loss, even the final one, with a shrug. And yet to make your heart so warm, and your mind so loving, that you will sill try again...and again...

...and still love the game.

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