I’ve heard that in ancient times identity counted for something. Drones in the hive sometimes speak of it, the concept of individual thought or action, not aligned to the collective goal.
It sounds a quaint concept at times, like an errant child running free. And other times it sounds frightening, each little soul struggling to mean something in a vast, roiling mess of divided humanity.
I try not to think too much on this, for it diverts my attention from our common goals, and I sense it sends ripples of agitation through those closest to me. In fact I fear at times that even dwelling on such thoughts opens me to the accusation of the greatest of crimes – true thought.
We must avoid this at all times, it vexes a soul that is united and it disturbs the carefully calibrated universe. If it happens too often we have heard, it signals a breakdown in the flow, and the aberrant form responsible must be removed.
I do not want that to happen to me. But at times I have this strange drawing sense to wonder of the past. I understand it all, as I am supposed to do, as cautionary tales, and ones best left to contemplation back in school days when we learn our allocated duties and responsibilities. And why things must be always as they are.
So a creeping fear rises each day now when I open my eyes to the scan for my check up. I wonder if something of this distraction flickers like an accusatory flame in my iris. So far it has not been so. So far, so good.
(c ) Helen M Valentina 2018