Why not be a fool?

Why not be a fool. A fool who is hopeful. A fool who has a dream. The dream to grow, to crave for treasure, to become more powerful, to break free from suppression, to be yourself. A fool who does not care what others think? A wise man who knows a lot lives under a prison. A superficious prison that he imposed on himself. For what? for the ideal? For reason? Reason is so boring.

Well, do I have the choice? I do, I believe I do. But the reason tells me otherwise. The more I know, the more hopeless I become. Isn’t knowledge itself the problem? Knowledge imprisons me. I was a child who see the world in front of me as a mess, where I looked around with awe. Then I became an adult, who sees the world as a web of connection. A connection that I’m increasingly seeing myself as a part of it, in which I have to play my part. Why do I see it that way. Why not like a child who knows how to dream. A dream is not contaminated with judgements from the eye of grow-ups. I’m an adult, and I built a prison for myself. I’m too afraid to step out of my prison.