Older, but no wiser

I wish I could write something to explain why I have so little to say here nowadays. But then, if I could, I wouldn’t need to, would I?

Outer activity masks inner paralysis; body goes through the motions, driven by as much of the lower orders of mind as is necessary, whilst the higher orders lie in a weary stupor and spirit has gone awol.

Writing which never strays from the purely factual recounting of activities remains shallow and dull and I’m not going waste your time with it.

Descriptions of purely inner musings are self-obsessive and irrelevant to anyone else, so I’ll try and spare you these too, although a few (such as this) do creep through.

Interest lies in the place where outer and inner worlds meet and overlap in a generative way; when the outer world stimulates an inner reflection leading in turn to a new perspective on the outer world.

But the link is broken. The two worlds are disconnected, each runs on its own track, independent of the other. This I observe, dispassionately, and wonder vaguely how to re-forge the connection.