Meditations and pleadings

Spectral, deserved, driven by the mind killer, reverberating fleetingly; enlivened by exceedingly desperate exactitude; grossly misinformed and vastly uncontainable, this. I grow weary. And yet the only impetus approaching all horizons resounds, "press on, carry forth."

I'm here because hope is thriving, but here is not, paradoxically, where this hope is aroused. (The beginning and end of one ripple gives life to the awareness of an overwhelming connectivity; we may not be destined; but we are an exemplar for ourselves and our future.)

I spend my time engaged in myriad forms of reflection. The only true energy exerted from within me is oriented toward the understanding of... my Self. Soul enrichment; virtue cultivation; character development. Why fear knowledge? Wisdom? Language? I pray you not to mistake such endeavors as ego-encompassed thralldom. Virtues coat the underside of all outwardly ventures. Companionship is a virtue; or friendship of a truer, finer nature. Love and compassion intertwined between souls is our common virtue. "The only way to have a friend is to be one." Conrad wrote of common fate, of the tragic underbelly of our mutual-destiny.

The only path is the path ahead. I seek love now, as well as the future: "Yet a man may love a paradox, without losing either his wit or his honesty." I cannot be content with desolate cascading droughts of insincerity; the elusive agility of simple confidence, in potential amorousness, flourishing in Dreams only. There is more glistening Beauty than is contained in a night of gazing into the cosmos; traversing a township of sorts where all commune for knowledge, every shift of my awareness brings into view the ever expansive, inwardly motivated, desire for real growth; new gardens from which Eden did not fear the sweetness of the fruit, but eagerly pursued its liquid wisdom despite threats from invisible bullying apparitions. Each shift of awareness casts away evil for a time. Too many; yet no one.

Most are ripped from their stagnation by Fate's swinging fury; I will not be dragged along unawares. One must choose. It is no longer acceptable to be led astray by fleeting passions; we all bottle our own raging temptresses... our own casks of wailing tempests. Proximity is a ghastly deception; disillusioned by one claim or another, one portrayal of the Unknowing as if the fanfares and triumphant victories are merely shades of a grander monstrosity.

"How does one kill fear, I wonder? How do you shoot a spectre through the heart, slash off its spectral head, take it by its spectral throat?"

Do not fear the intimations that keep you glancing.

Each glance chips away, slowly, the layers of my being.

I hope to soon be unprotected and free.

February 7, 2010