Originally posted in The Haven
My eyes grow heavy with the culminated efforts of an arduous day. The humorous thing is that my morning, resembling molasses as it drips into an uneventful afternoon, has been empty and sparse, devoid of any and all activity. I have a test next month, and for the first time in 4 years I can say that I’ve studied. Since April, with sporadic breaks in between restless bouts of prodigious memorization, I’ve toiled away before my books, worshipping them like fallen gods at decrepitly ancient, decaying altars. There may be a bit more knowledge to imbibe, to enrich my storehouse of academia, but my confidence is at an all-time high. Surely, I will continue to pour over these tomes of communications trivia eventually, but until then, why ruin my mood?
It’s said that you should never curse something when angry, and never make a promise when happy. This, as literally anybody who’s ever lived can verify, is due to the fickle, fleeting nature of emotions. What was so strongly felt a moment prior, as surreal as to be palpable and tangible, can evaporate in the blink of an eye, leaving the person who harbored the emotion delirious and befuddled. This is the great paradox of motivation, of inspiration. It will strike suddenly, right as fatigue has claimed you and you’re about to drift off into a somnambulant hibernation, jolting you awake with a fanatical fervor, rendering you a possessed lunatic, rabid for a pen and paper, chomping at the bit to record your ideas before they fade away forever into the void of the forgotten.
This is what I’m enduring currently. Even penning this, my daily 1000 words, is a frightening task, akin to swimming in raucous, tumultuous oceans encased in a waterlogged 100 pound weight vest, with my hands and feet hogtied. But, the fruits of my labor, seeing these enticing words dancing before me dutifully, soldiers ready to be deployed to my Haven, to my Brothers and Sisters, satiating and nourishing our ever growing populace, invigorates me and incites my primal nature to rapture. Fuck motivation, it’s a crutch. T-Nation, short for Testosterone Nation, every adolescent boy’s surrogate older brother as far as bodybuilding websites are concerned, had an old advert with the radiantly luscious Dani Shugart as the model. Looking every bit the Amazon huntress, she stands imposingly, with a simple motto superimposed over her delectable physique.
NOVICES WAIT TO BE INSPIRED. VETERANS GRIND. THE MOTIVATION COMES AFTER A SET OR TWO.
This is what I remind myself of daily, hourly, down to the minutes as they scrape by severely and further still to each grave second. Our world wants us to slip catatonically into middle age. Young Men in their mid-twenties have ominous, disturbingly low Testosterone levels, a byproduct of our toxin riddled environment, sure, but also due to a “life” of slovenly inactivity and languid weakness. This chemical is our lifeblood and birthright, our blessing by virtue of our Y chromosome. It designates us males, and is what defines us as Men. It is an unforgivable sin beyond earthly reproach to allow it to escape our determined grasp.
“I despise weakness in myself. I will not tolerate it in others, for if I do, then it will spread to me. I cannot allow this to happen.” – Paul Waggener, Operation Werewolf
I have read that the ultimate curse of the human being is to be riddled with and imprisoned by flesh, for it constrains our true forms, those of our souls, our auras and spirits, preventing us from achieving our true potential and limiting our access to our natural powers. That is an unbearably dimwitted sentiment. The originator of that opinion obviously didn’t understand that strong souls can only reside in capable bodies, and that our flesh is not a prison but a vessel. The former argument is one championed by the squalid academics with narrow, stooped shoulders and a vampiric, sickly pallor reeking of illness. As I’ve blogged about before, one of the guiding principles of The Haven is the pursuit of the Grecian ideal of Kalokagathia, the pursuit of physical, mental and spiritual perfection, with the ultimate goal of a triad of unification, reincarnated in modern times with such sayings as “Civilize the mind, make savage the body”. These are the ethos we all strive by in this collective. Anything else is to insult the gift.
On we trudge, towards victory, exhausted but fulfilled. Dan Gable, the great collegiate wrestler and Olympian, used to work himself to near death every day he stepped on the mat. Bursting with screaming injuries and plagued by pleading muscles to rest, a solitary thought enabled him to continuously train passionately, devoted to one goal with a monastic zeal. The realization responsible? He visualized his unseen opponent continuing to move as he rested, laughing at him, and callously mocking his lack of ardent devotion and work ethic. Incensed and enraged at this imagined slight, Dan Gable would once again storm the mat, or the track, the chinning bar and the weight room, determined to be the best. And he was.
The last thing I want is for this essay to reek of that which I despise most, the hollow, idealistic self-help nonsense most people consume and rely on for day to day life. There are no affirmations here, no reassuring, benevolent pats on the shoulder to tell and inform a fully grown Man or Woman that they’re “doing a great job”. Grow the fuck up. The Haven doesn’t operate on such shallow, reprehensible drivel. We are here for one reason; to push ourselves and each other, to rally against a cruel, unfeeling world as a family, tribe, organization and club. But sniveling in cowardice, begging for a handout from a member? That is something that will not be tolerated.
Your vision may blur and your senses may dull from the exertion required in the gym, at school, or in your careers. Life may sting as you’re unjustly passed up for promotions, you serve without recognition, or you simply feel slighted due to the wavering vicissitudes of existence. This is fine, because you have the backing of your Brothers and Sisters. This is no safe space; it is a den of Barbarians and Amazons, Gladiators and Gladiatrixes. Grit your teeth and brandish your weapons. We all have work to do, and we all share the load.
We are all Sisyphus. Now shoulder the rock, and push.
Best regards Haven.