528: How Long?
The stars grow frantic I feel.
Compelling me to you with severest insist.
And I know I must but can’t shake the rotting that crawls in and bonds my days and years in distraction.
What is in the dirt that so with the sky compares?
The stars grow frantic I feel.
Compelling me to you with severest insist.
And I know I must but can’t shake the rotting that crawls in and bonds my days and years in distraction.
What is in the dirt that so with the sky compares?
A mans rise from bitter and unremarkable circumstance begins with a trajectory of thought, positioned far higher than can his situation impair, and that is neither customary or comfortable. By a docile tenacity we can all arrive at clever intentions that, in truth, have most often been considered though occasionally expressed and seldom honoured with the decisive and fundamental industry fruition of worthwhile change requires.
The simplest schoolboy is now familiar with truths for which Archimedes would have sacrificed his life.
Ernest Renan
My Dear and courageous friend,
With ruthless honesty: What do I value? Am I living my life in accordance with those values? What can I do? What must I accept? Practice, practice, practice. The rest, to fate with improvised optimism.
To the mind grateful and content, what is ordinary far exceeds the sensational in radiance and sincerity. The smallest things can catalyse the pivot towards a circuitry of events, a clashing of aims and atoms exciting monumental and irreparable change, flung out across the stars by a mere blink, a breath, and just being.
Mostly, the writing is a figuring out of things. A naturally occurring process which, when with interfered by my own confused and fearful intemperance, it is quickly understood that a necessary something is lost; A clear and perhaps sometimes simple – sometimes savage veracity, that retains yet a dimension of frightful grace and symmetry that I cannot tolerate yet for having no answer for as though one were needed, and the babel hides me well.
I do not believe in events of pure tranquility; a state of freedom from emotional tremor and suspense. No, I do not believe our burdens bear endurance to dissolution. If there are joys, they are but survived given; withholding perishes them with would cling. Will troubles. They are to be worn, long as can be wrung of instruction. Therefore, where possible, predict them.
So, if there is good, any truth, any compassion; from yourself first receive.
Disturbances are as we perceive.
Who would observe botheration with clarity soonest dissolves it.
If you will read again what is written, you will see how it was.
Black Elk