For how long can you be in one place before you are sick of it?
Have you ever listened to music for a day straight, how about weeks, how about years of random tunes being stuck in your head?
It may be art, but at some point the addiction to these things that once pulled on your heart strings will be nothing more than noise.
How does one appreciate the little things after having gotten used to… well, getting used to things? When life itself becomes dull, regardless of the consequences of that, the first question you should be asking is "Why?".
Dullness itself is also a consequence of something else, and that thing too is probably a consequence of another thing although more subtle and too well hidden for you to notice immediately.
By reverse engineering these details about yourself and your relationship with the world, or the lack there of, you will be able to mindmap the fundamental, the elemental laws that makes you 'you'.
You may categorise that ability to 'be' as a human being into what we know as "Humanity", but I believe that that is still an abstraction, afterall, why would you feel the need to categorise the 'spirit of being', consciousness, into that specific framework? That too gives a clue into the lens in which you look at the world.
If you must compare yourself to anything, compare yourself to the highest ideal, which you can imagine would be transcendent from any form of comparison by that point, without any lens, and simply observes.
So, what does it mean to ask "why"? What lens do you look through that makes you ask that question?
Dullness.
The very lens that you look through, your entire diagnosis and relationship with the foundation of the world itself, is dullness.
Having memories of an entirely different world view, you ask yourself which is the most preferable, and how can you gain control over which view to submit yourself to wholeheartedly.
This journey continues on and on and on, and finally, when you piece together a logical mindmap of what your truest true self is, you notice something; You are not 'you'.
When your lens then becomes nothing more than the logic behind the mechanics of one's spirit, putting that spirit into practice is the second most crusual, but also the most difficult for some step.
Who knows how long it took you to reach this point, but now you need to really start at square one.
But now, your own knowledge burdens you, you can't help but recognise ideas in everything you see, instead of letting go and simply observing.
You grew addicted to your own mind and got sick of it, just like music, once you indulge in it for too long, it is no longer beautiful, it is just noise.
Beauty is then an aspect of what is fundamentally progressive for the spirit, but progressing to what?
Your truest true self is the highest ideal one could recapture. Everyone has been it before at least once in their life, either when given the chance to indulge in downtime to enter a temporary state of it, or to consciously develop an unwavering heart to ground one's view of existence into a single lens that stems from a pure and observational perspective for long enough for that chapter in one's life to officially be called a life story, a purpose.
That is the experience of one who is freespirited, child like.
The Child is one who isn't necessarily childish, however just like an amnesiac, if one can have control over their own mind rather than be burdened by their knowledge which controls their reactions and responses to things they notice, they will know what 'This' is.
Thisness is something that can only be sensed when one has no lens, is an observer, is childlike, is freespirited, is pure, is The Ideal.
"The Ideal" is the name I give to those who achieve this ultimate aim in life fulfill their progression as a human being, to either become or to remain as a fulfleged human being or consciousness (however you want to put it) despite their history with falling from the grace that once came naturally to them as a child.
Statistics show, according to my own asking around though nothing really offical (maybe someone can publish a real scientific study on it), that the average age at which one falls from Grace is 14 years of age, when one learns that they can think about thoughts, becomes obsessed instead of devoted in the name of success for a dream that they kill in the process, and becomes a slave of their growing ego.
…
Now, what is THIS story about?
I don't know, but I find myself still able to think, feel, and act in the same way that I did when I was alive.
I think I might be dead.
Around me right now is a wet, dark cave, with candle light flickering in the distance illuminating the menicingly wooden, spiky buildings built into the side of the jagged reveen.
I prayed day and night that in case I did die, that I would forget everything and become an amnesiac, a cheat code into become childlike once again by literally becoming a child.
However, reincarnation didn't await me, but there is an afterlife.
I already know where I am, I know what I deserve. My actions where never so bad that they needed to be punished in hell, nor were they good enough for me to be protected by a home found in heaven.
I am alone, in the endless abyss and void that surrounds me, I have to save myself regardless of where I am.
There is no exist, because as I said, it is endless.
But even if it takes me a thousand years, I promise that I will become whole again, no matter what challenges face me down here.
…
I turn and see a Hollow in the corner, kicking and screaming and moaning for no other reason than it being dictated by its instincts of what used to comfort it in times of crisis, but probably doesn't feel any ease in pain while doing so now. It is one who has given up entirely without any hope of getting hope once again.
I will escape, right?