Take a look at the world around you and start to add up the absurdities. Before long you might find yourself like the Indian King, the victim of an inescapable exponential progression. Absurdities are not all. There are people and places and individual circumstances that combine to form a hefty dinner dressing. The feast of large numbers of which every person is a part in some manner or other. Dissect and diagram your life according to the irrevocable power of these numbers and see them as the harbinger of the only permanence you will ever know. You are a part of them now, the glowing figs of the existence tree, and part of them you shall remain. Beyond birth and life and the countless tears and breaths, mistakes, misunderstandings and triumphs, hearts captured and minds repelled. None that mean nothing, save for the permanence that comes with being among the counted; that results from being among the being. Somehow this being is the being of "why," so often puzzling and scorned. The being of how, where, when, who and what. As to why? Because counted you were. And how? In the manner of the moment. Where? With those counted alike. When? In your time. Who? You -- among the rest. What? Counted is all.
A reflection of the many relationships I see around me and a constant reminder of what to avoid.
Happiness is the distance that forms between partners who are parents who were lovers once before. Peace is the division of lives once bound by oath and a promise of the will to thrive. Faces of friends who had love and loss and lose now only that love. The sadness of acceptance and the fate of a bond broken forevermore.
I worry now about rule with a "view to private interest," and I do so while I hear the call of greatness and declarations regarding primacy of place. I am not a country, but a man. Am a working man, a human of this present with a desire to exist peacefully and fluidly. My primacy of place is fixed by my love of self, not the screeching of banshees propping themselves upon the backs of others. But the great spirit that protects me is vulnerable. Hijackers, proponents of a collective disintegration, work their voodoo on the frazzled, hoping to string us along together. They feed on the sores of the body ideologic, drawing strength from the bubbling excretion of the wilted body as if imbibing a sacred elixir.
Of the simple knave ask: education? They respond - but slight. In such inadequacy, a force both restless and intemperate. So we must probe the enduring dilemma -- Wisdom as reflection or, an endless aspiration? To know and name human effort and watch it crumble, stifled beneath the myth and mirror of self-aggrandizement. In the fields, each one a voice! And beyond? Nothing. Behold reality as reflection: like man, like state.