Stumbling
There’s a momentary panic that sets in when a displaced past is brought forward for remembrance. As the rogue memory steps onto the stage of consciousness, lucidity becomes a rising curtain as confusion sets the stage and self delineation is disrupted with the incongruities of the past. A little uncertainty never hurt anyone, which is good, because uncertainty fills the surrounding seats, packing the house as each individual doubt slowly takes a seat. As the mistruths of memory replace forgotten spaces, the characters in this play get a little more complex. The world doesn’t fit well inside the of a skull, so even as the memories are wrapping up you’ve already covered them in a light gloss and dulled the edges for easier consumption. Tomorrow a coat of paint, and some time with a sander will render it blunt and then the patiently built life can continue on as before. Tomorrow we can forget old stepping stones and stumbling blocks and reaffirm our belief in the here and now. Tell ourselves who and what we are. The past is past and we move on so we may become what we may eventually be, whatever that may be. However just now, just for now, remember that not everything went as hoped, remember the pains and remember the trials, and remember that all smooth surfaces and solid stones hide a multitude of cracks underneath.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Education always has some value.
Corinthian
Some things never really serve an individual purpose, only existing to serve as part of a larger whole. Still, even small stones making up a path each have an individual fingerprint, fossil remnant, or some other individual signature that catches the occasional eye, something that sufficiently tugs on a strand of curiosity that gets drawn up and close to intense scrutiny. I guess what strikes a fancy is always individual, and what is interesting enough to pocket and take home is as well. After years have passed, and the little reminders serve their function, we can ponder the stone, whose path is still there, or we can ponder the path, that led us to where we are. Looking back some things always seem less important than others, as there are stones and memories that we did not take with us. Sometimes the memory we’ve chosen to remind us doesn’t always make much sense either. It just seems like a piece of a past whose significance blurred by the passage of time. I remember columns; Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian, but I can’t think of the reason that this might be important.
Some things never really serve an individual purpose, only existing to serve as part of a larger whole. Still, even small stones making up a path each have an individual fingerprint, fossil remnant, or some other individual signature that catches the occasional eye, something that sufficiently tugs on a strand of curiosity that gets drawn up and close to intense scrutiny. I guess what strikes a fancy is always individual, and what is interesting enough to pocket and take home is as well. After years have passed, and the little reminders serve their function, we can ponder the stone, whose path is still there, or we can ponder the path, that led us to where we are. Looking back some things always seem less important than others, as there are stones and memories that we did not take with us. Sometimes the memory we’ve chosen to remind us doesn’t always make much sense either. It just seems like a piece of a past whose significance blurred by the passage of time. I remember columns; Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian, but I can’t think of the reason that this might be important.
Monday, March 2, 2009
A mutant gene in human thought.
Uncanny
Isn't it funny, how some things can be too sacred to be touched, so they are hidden away to protect them from familiarity. What is value, when it escapes an economist's hands and is held in mint condition, hidden away, and left unread. How is an idea so important that it cannot be questioned and must be guarded from doubt's cold hands. What of words whose consequences prevent utterance, like love and hate? When do people become untouchable and could we have another Houdini, or are all true heroes really dead? Through legend and lore and listening to the old folk's words there are certain things that take on a holiness all their own. Touching is blasphemous, and understanding is condemned as if it was a wrong to make uncanny heroes merely men.
I would like to add that this post in no way condones Indiana Jones IV.
Isn't it funny, how some things can be too sacred to be touched, so they are hidden away to protect them from familiarity. What is value, when it escapes an economist's hands and is held in mint condition, hidden away, and left unread. How is an idea so important that it cannot be questioned and must be guarded from doubt's cold hands. What of words whose consequences prevent utterance, like love and hate? When do people become untouchable and could we have another Houdini, or are all true heroes really dead? Through legend and lore and listening to the old folk's words there are certain things that take on a holiness all their own. Touching is blasphemous, and understanding is condemned as if it was a wrong to make uncanny heroes merely men.
I would like to add that this post in no way condones Indiana Jones IV.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)