Wednesday, April 17, 2013

The Truth Is . . .

That beauty only manifests itself like schisms in dense granite, and the larger proportions of our days are spent fighting, bickering, commuting, crapping, or just generally not being very productive--being dull and thick and rock-headed and not very lustrous.  We dream big and we talk equal, but we avoid the hard work that allows dream fulfillment and we are mostly average.  And getting over that, and getting to what it is we care about (discovering it and having the guts to keep at it), is really hard.  It is so hard that I won't even anonymously say what it is I sincerely care about.

Most of my life I live to get to moments of utter bliss that I cannot replicate with precisely calibrated equations, no matter how similar the situation.  Unexpected and unpredictable, I have been floored by piped in music (Paul Simon's Graceland) in Wholefoods, utterly repulsed by the stuff that I'm supposed to find enthralling  and anti-anxious in a world that breeds anxiety.  Numbing oneself out is healthy at times, but having the courage to appear unstable, stupid, and ignorant and then learn, is vital and rare. I'm not sure I have it. I think that the older I get the more I seek comfort and stability, and the more I seek comfort and stability the more I realize how foolish I was for so many years.

But the point is that no matter how much we want it, we cannot just increase the beauty quotient.  We can't simply add more bliss.  It just happens sometimes and those times are certainly not all times.  It--life--is what we chose to do in between.  Coming to terms with that can stop a lot of pointless jabbering and suffering too.

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