of course, there were rough patches, that was inevitable. what was unsettling was the fact that his pleasures, too, were quite unforgiving. leaving him to marvel that he experienced any joy at all, even at the best of times.
the day eventually came, which of course was no surprise, when he began to wonder how to discern between true silence and what he suspected to be a certain inner deafness to which he seemed increasingly prone.
messiahs, if messiahs there were, grew slowly, had to be tended with care. although he suspected that any fruit they might bear was already to be found, full and ripe, in the hole into which the seed had fallen. . .
one day, passing the shelves in his garage, he thought that it might be worth an attempt to store the sun in some jars. over the following weeks he carefully bottled what he felt would be a sufficient amount in case of emergency. but after the winter had passed, he looked at the glowing collection and thought it all seemed so selfish; so he took off all the lids and waited for the clouds.
messengers came, in all shapes and sizes, telling him things of greater or lesser import. yet, no matter the message they carried, he always received them and gave them his full attention, so that each and every one might depart unburdened.
someone mentioned that they were putting on some music in order to drown out the music playing in their head. as this sounded like a plausible methodology, he decided to try a similar strategy in regards to stupidity.
after several attempts he deemed the experiment a success, but he came out looking the fool just the same.