What is it about the night-time that draws forth philosophic introspection?
I used to believe that wisdom could be found in books, perhaps somewhere between Plato and Thoreau, and a big fat yellow hilighter splashed through the right words could imprint upon me their lofty lessons.
But the only truth I’ve discovered thus far is that the world is much more complex than I long imagined. So, rather than deify those antiquated texts, searching for some alleged treasure, I toss down that dusty map and rusted compass. Instead, I aim to embrace the experience of now, leaving the province of ancient history where it rightfully belongs. Though tempting it is to wander into the study chamber from time to time, I’ll do my best not to catalog the transpiring wilderness. The goal is to enjoy the moment as it approaches, so that no left-over morsel remains for nostalgia.
“This is my reconstruction, there is no battlefront.
All the edges of their weapons…have become blunt.
Visions of a summer sweating.
Little boy, where are you heading?
You’re not lost. You’re not lost at all.”