Seems like a good idea at hte time
Class on Wed night--the end of a long day, normally, but this time I took vacation to nurse my headache--yielded discussion about what it is in human nature that drives one to "wrong". I think it is an issue of mind fighting nature, delineating right and wrong at an offset of what human desire and instinct lead you to. Period.
The evidence is around you if you look--how many find reality clearer when bent through the lens of drugs, alcohol most notably included? This guy, with two thumbs, for one. There is, within an envelope of fallen away filters, ashen analysis, and the esophagal warmth of emptied goblets a perception of what is; unjudged, unmeasured, and innate.
Awe finds you. It taps your shoulder, pinches your nipple, and dances in the corner of your eye. It's there, and you're lucky to glimpse its shadow; luckier still to hear its whisper or feel its zephyrous brush against your face. I am lucky. I know love. I know warmth, and safety. Excess as well as rest. Yet I know hate. Fear, worry, the smell of sulfur and the stench of many nights awake and unsettled.
But I know love. Have tasted awe, have heard the far off cries of joy and the immeasurable contentment of embrace.
Here walks a man, confused, lost, riddled with frustration at the limits of 24 hours, 12 months, 28 years of inquiry. And one who, 20 minutes or 12 hours from now will awake to the same filters and lenses and mirrors of the day to day.
But now I scribble. Sip, and gaze, and lust and wonder and fall. Now I gaze into the fog, sit amongst the rooftops, and savor.
The evidence is around you if you look--how many find reality clearer when bent through the lens of drugs, alcohol most notably included? This guy, with two thumbs, for one. There is, within an envelope of fallen away filters, ashen analysis, and the esophagal warmth of emptied goblets a perception of what is; unjudged, unmeasured, and innate.
Awe finds you. It taps your shoulder, pinches your nipple, and dances in the corner of your eye. It's there, and you're lucky to glimpse its shadow; luckier still to hear its whisper or feel its zephyrous brush against your face. I am lucky. I know love. I know warmth, and safety. Excess as well as rest. Yet I know hate. Fear, worry, the smell of sulfur and the stench of many nights awake and unsettled.
But I know love. Have tasted awe, have heard the far off cries of joy and the immeasurable contentment of embrace.
Here walks a man, confused, lost, riddled with frustration at the limits of 24 hours, 12 months, 28 years of inquiry. And one who, 20 minutes or 12 hours from now will awake to the same filters and lenses and mirrors of the day to day.
But now I scribble. Sip, and gaze, and lust and wonder and fall. Now I gaze into the fog, sit amongst the rooftops, and savor.