Invisible Pathways

Once again I sit, defunct, and brooding, encased in that ever-enchanting forest of regret.

And I wonder why the time has come again for me to embrace such fruitlessness, such emptiness, with an only somewhat open heart.

Despite my efforts to the contrary, my brain has dangled a certain vision of coupled life before my eyes, and I reached for it mercilessly, as a slab of beef before a mongrel. It has become obvious to me, after my years of romantic torment, that a perception only clings to reality inasmuch as that reality has been fully realized. Inevitably, I construct pathways to fulfillment before I've scaled its terrain, touched its soil, tested its ground. And of course this is no path a whole person takes, but instead a meager attempt by one whose yearning for wholeness has led him astray, surveying the great fields before him, while stepping across piles of sand.

In this instance, the sand was mere discourse and the fields the possibilities beneath. But I have yet to learn that experience, if not traversed properly, only serves to entice me into a security I have not yet earned -- that of 'understanding'. For while I assure myself I do, I do not understand what is really there. My efforts to transform sand into roots and panorama into possibility echo the tangible darkness of my brain's work far better than comprehension allows. If I truly understood my failure, I would become a willing slave to its opposite, and rewards of such magnitude are never instantaneous, as one always decides they must be.

I've committed egregious sins upon my soul, falling prey to a cozy mind-state that favors submission over action, spite over respite, love over truth. And at last I remain the bystander of love, an owl fixed upon a branch she grasps but does not bother to see. To see love is to see truth, for love alone is a charlatan, twisting threads of truth into reality's noose, tickled when the ego snatches the fantasy from beneath it.

Love has yet to beckon me with truth, its crafty accomplice, whose crime is only discernible in the ease of its absence.

Conquering the Sky

October 20th, 2008

After a lifetime of waiting for an experience "of a lifetime," to what extent does one's view of life change upon its completion?

I've never regarded myself as particularly braver than the general public, but yesterday I accomplished a fantasy I had maintained for as long as my memory serves me: Skydiving.

Perhaps it's the neuroses ubiquitous within my personality, but I actually did take a moment, floating amidst the rush of air, to affirm that yes---this is the kind of experience that people imagine for years, decades, and they somehow never seem to allow it to themselves, fearing a fallacious visceral reaction that they have constructed to keep the truth unfathomable and limitless. Do we do this to fortify our dreams? Once a "dream" is attained, I would argue, we are unable to dream of it purely any longer, having to submit almost fully to those tangible memories we now hold of that completed moment within our brains and our bones.

The ultimate question then becomes: How much do we actually want to accomplish our dreams, with the knowledge that, once completed, a part of our subconscious AND conscious mind will have to be reassessed, recompartmentalized, reframed, and reworked?

More on this to follow...

The Hesitant Bandwagoner

After a lengthy unwillingness to submit, I've decided, in honor of tonight's "49th and Final" presidential debate, that to keep my personal musings merely personal is to indirectly forfeit my participation in the necessary global discussion that the internet has now become. With that said, I do not plan on using this space as a "neutral" ground on which I can passively stomp on anyone or anything immediately affecting my personal life. This will merely be an exercise in verbalizing that which confounds me, those opinions and feelings which I may be unable, in the daily goings-on of my life, to express to someone fully and wholeheartedly in a given moment about a particular subject.

So here I am, as educated as I've allowed myself to be at the current moment, proclaiming my foray into the world of cyberself-expression.

Joe Sixpack + Joe The Plumber = Joe King Wright?

Senator McCain once again proved to us tonight that not only does he have nothing new to say, he also has no comprehension of anything that has just been said TO him. Over and over again, he repeats that Obama is looking to "raise taxes" and "fine" what the Republicans would no-doubt ironically coin the "poor rich" business owners. And Obama must repeat - "95% of Americans will be getting a tax cut. And no, I will not be fining those business owners who rightfully provide health insurance opportunities for their employees. I will only be making things more affordable." And somehow McCain still feels that repeating the phrase "raise taxes" will win over those voters who are undecided. He can only hope that he's appealing to those as senile and unattentive as he seems to be.

I must admit, however, that despite my willingness to support Senator Obama at this turn, I still tear up a bit having to hear Hillary's commentary as an outside observer following the debate, rather than the one directly involved.

I wish ALL Americans were evolved enough and sophisticated enough to recognize intellect and fault ineptitude, regardless of gender and race, two socially constructed points of contention.

Alright, that's it for right now.