the threads in her head

Passion, is a deceptively simple word. What ignites that burning flame, that sudden desire. Indeed, success is transient. You know that. But you stretched it only as far to that failure will come. But can't you see, in the fabric of time, in that word eternity and infinity, in that very fact of ceaseless time, that success matters not.

Yet it's thrilling is it not? To be able to work for that which seems to fill your whole life up with meaning, that adds colour and vibrancy to your life. Sit still breathe, remember that joy, that joy, that certain almost filling satisfaction that struck you, as all other things drown out, and you're safe amid running and training, and savouring that feeling of speed.

Of being the best, of excelling, of being fast - the fastest. Of being known, accepted, of being popular, having fans, being a model for others, boosting your self-image, thinking "hey, this is rather cool." And so what? It seems satisfying, it seems like you are doing something - achieving your personal best, but when you die, does it matter.

But we are not animals. We are not the wolves who bray long and loud into the full luminous moon of the night, whose basic instinct is to hunt, to eat, to grow, to survive. We are not the rats that scamper around, scavenging for food, seeking to survive.

We have that mind, and that soul. Our body is but an exterior shell, but filled with lusts. Tainted, if you will. Our mind seeks for that purpose. We don't just survive, we seek for more. Because we are already capable of surviving, we have manipulated all resource to ensure that we'll survive. We have invented and established a new system outside nature, that system of education and academics, and papers - certificates and those multi-coloured notes of currency - will then get you basic needs of water, food and space.

Wow. What an incredible progress.

And I myself do not know whether there's meant to be sarcasm in that statement.