Beast

The dramatically unclear way of living when it is a beautiful struggle

How can one word have completely different meanings? How does what we see confuse what we understand? I read the definitions of the word beast.

1a: a four-footed mammal as distinguished from a human being, a lower vertebrate, and an invertebrate

b: a lower animal as distinguished from a human being

c: an animal as distinguished from a plant

d: an animal under human control

2: a contemptible person

3: something formidably difficult to control or deal with

But then in a more urban dictionary I read that a beast is:

1. a person that is extremely talented at whatever they do and always display great determination, dedication, and resilience to always win or want to win.

It makes me speculate. What kind of beast is the true beast? What kind of world is the true world?

There is a popular belief that it’s great to have clear principles, to know exactly what you want and need, and then to communicate that in a superbly psychologically balanced way to anyone who happen to be around you. The opposite is the unlogically messy, too emotional and confusing personality that might be renamed and reframed by others to make them understandable. We probably all want to be associated with statement number one, but I can’t stop wondering if we in reality rather tend to fall under statement number two?

Why can’t we keep up with creating clear ideas and keep the goals we set out for ourselves? There are so many dreamlike thinkings of what a good person is. And how that person is constantly on a grounded pedestal, never falling or tipping over. I find myself being heavily provoked by the design of that thought since it’s such an unreal and distant feeling. I fall constantly. I hurt myself. I am the beast when it is something formidable difficult to control. And during every fall, before I hit the ground and while I’m in the air, I think. How can everyone else be standing so firmly on their feet?

You might argue that everyone else is falling with me. You might even show me one or two scratches as a proof of when your own body touched the stony ground. But did you truly fall or did you do it to make me feel less of an outcast, less of a lost case?

I wonder. If I am a beast, then what beast are you?