On Struggles With Passion

Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.
Through Passion, I gain Strength.
Through Strength, I gain Power.
Through Power, I gain Victory.
Through Victory my chains are Broken.
The Force shall set me free.

I wrote about the Sith code some months ago, which starts with “Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength.” And so-on until you get to victory and your chains are broken. It’s very close to what the Temple of Set preaches. I’ve internalized this motto into my life philosophy. But, I’ve still run into a problem I have yet to solve in myself. What if there is no passion? No motivation? Like a car without gasoline. Without that one essential ingredient, the Sith Code doesn’t work. This is the problem I’ve encountered.  

There’s no one cause for my lack of passion that I can point at. I’m not looking for excuses, but tackling the root of the problem feels like too big of a job when there are so many factors. I could pin it on that major death in the family late last year which I’m still dealing with the ramifications of, and on poverty, the stress of parenthood, mental illness, autism and ADHD, and depression, but to be honest, even before the death last year I was already losing my passion for art and creativity. Perhaps living in a society that considers art worthless has a lot to do with it as well. Perhaps working on a webcomic for years and only being able to draw a dozen fans or so is another cause. I had naïve hopes of at least making a meager income on my art back when I started in 2020. I’m just not good at marketing myself. I feel incompatible with capitalism, and with society in general. I don’t like most people. This is not to sound arrogant, but I feel like a graduate student living on a planet run by kindergartners. I can’t lower myself to their level, I can’t take part in their masquerade. That’s why I’m on disability; I can’t hold down a job, and I can’t get hired anyway; too antisocial, name sounds too foreign, too short (heightism gets laughed at even in social justice circles, but it is real). I tried for years, literally years, it isn’t as if I only tried a few times and gave up. I’m not the kind of person who likes to slave away for the rich anyway. I got a Master’s degree in Creative Writing, which was already near-worthless when I got it, now it’s completely worthless. College turned out to be a scam. The only jobs I could get after college were terrible, soul-draining call center jobs that eventually drove me into a major nervous breakdown and ego death. I’m an artist and a writer, I’m not good at much else, and it’s near-impossible to make a living doing that, especially with AI being a thing. AI feels like the final nail in the coffin, the moment when art and artists officially became completely worthless to society, after their worth was depleted over many decades. The people in power finally found a way to shut us all up, just like they always wanted. Maybe 100+ years ago I could have been a famous writer and artist, or at least be able to make a decent living doing it, but those days are long gone. Intelligence is seen as a threat by this society, and is punished accordingly. 

I’m 40, halfway through life, and I’m flat broke, nothing to my name, with none of the ambitions I had when I was young realized. And it’s made me nihilistic and apathetic. My illusions have been stripped bear, and my former goals seem hollow. I ponder, were any of those ambitions really my own, or was it what society told me I should want? What’s the point of doing anything? The question isn’t “what can I do to succeed?”, it’s now “why try at all?” Telling stories is my life purpose. I wish I wanted to do it, but I just can’t find the passion. It’s become a chore. The well is dry. I don’t have an answer to “why” anymore. I suppose “start small, do a little each day even if you aren’t in the mood, make it a habit” is the only advice I’ve ever found for this problem. But that still doesn’t answer the question of why. Because death is coming for me eventually and the clock is ticking? What if even that doesn’t motivate me anymore? 

Well, I did just manage to write a lot about how I can’t find the motivation to write. That’s still writing. Perhaps venting this out is the first step. I have spirituality I could turn to as well. 

I wonder if Sutekh ever wonders why He should fight the Chaos Serpent every night, if it’s just going to resurrect itself every time it is defeated. Perhaps apathy is one of the lesser-talked about qualities of that serpent. Society rejected Sutekh, even before the spread of monotheism. Everyone sees him as a villain and His conniving, resentful, power-hungry sister as a perpetual victim, never bothering to hear His side of the story. Why should He put Himself on the line every night to save those ungrateful humans? I think He does it for His loved ones, His several consorts. Nephthys, Anat, Astarte, Ash, Tawaret, Neith, and His son Maga. It’s a short list, but the numbers don’t matter. That’s what my motivation should be; my family, and even if only a handful of others, it’s still something.

Perhaps apathy it is something I need to stick a spear in and move on with life. But just like the serpent it will always come back. I’m going to try to get some work done on a short story, and work on my comic. If nothing else, I should try to embody the characteristics of the God I follow. 

May Sutekh rise and A𓌜p𓌜e𓌜p𓌜 fall.  𓇼𓀢𓏛𓃪

𓋹֍֎𓋹

~ Siamanto the Foreigner

 𓋷𓅁𓈖𓏏𓍯𓀭𓈖𓐎𓏺𓈉𓏏𓅂𓌙𓀀 

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