(no subject)
What is reality? Facts? Objects? Truth? Does reality prove itself? Or do others prove it? Where’s the end, the beginning? Is there an end? Are there confines to reality? Are we bound to the limits of reality? Or does everyone view reality from their own perspective? Is it possible that the bounds of imagination are endless, and therefore reality as well? Reality is merely an interminable transcript created by the perspective of the beholder. That is the reality.
If so, what are the motives for reality? There are billions of people with different perspectives on reality just waiting for some perspective on life, some purpose, some substance. Where do we gain this substance if not from others and their being? Where if not from their connection to the beholder? Their perspectives of the beholder. Friendship? Love? Passion? The comfort we seek. The ineffable comfort of being with someone. Needing no second thoughts, dissimulation, gloss, the very things our transcripts of life are made of. The comfort of being able to express ourselves without having to weigh our thoughts. Knowing that no matter what happens, our friend will sort through our wholeness and keep only what is worth keeping and blow the rest away in a kind manner?
Yet comfort from others does not come from gazing into each other, but from gazing outwards towards life together. It is when we honestly ask ourselves who it is that means most to us, we find it is not those who provide us comfort through supporting us, it is the people who instead share in the pain with us. It is those who can be silent with us in a moment of confusion. It is those who stay beside us in our times of grief, the ones who can accept us as we are and be with us to face the reality of our weaknesses. It is the friends who can be silent with us who provide the greatest comfort.
‘"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.’ -A.A. Milne
By Sean Corcoran
10/25/2005
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