Monday, October 13, 2014

the edifice

I must so many things. I should have these others. I may not a lot. I cannot a mountain. I will a few

Even with a firm hand on perfection, as the enemy of doing, of moving, this edifice is full of holes, drafty and weak. If only I could somehow switch metaphors to a forgiving natural construct, a river, a tree, a beehive

And then would be the worship of constant change, motion or activity, as evidence of evolution over time. Comforting, well documented, provided for by the sun and religion

But the truth is I don’t know. I don’t know if this edifice that doesn’t exist outside my metaphoric realm, exists. I don’t know if its worth it, i don’t know if its magnificent, i don’t know if I should make it, I don’t know if I already made it, and I’m done, and now, I’m just wasting oxygen on futility

But I do know this is my happiness machine, and it must be watered, it knows the waypath my blood must take to spin into the correct whirlpool, it knows all the places in my mind where pain builds storefronts, it knows how to transform my fear into a tremulous honesty, the difference between coincidence and fate, convenience and courage, ordinary and the opportunity for not-so, to be seized or dissolved

It knows itself, in the manner of all sentient beings

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