Everything Under the Sun

In this moment, I believe I am weak.  I'm unfit to claim fitness in this fitment I call my physique.  And on this night, I cannot sleep.  For in my dreams, Mal appears on repeat, with a dagger that cuts deep.  Her message relayed without speech, "your progeny is unfit for my seed". God, it's as if no time has passed since that week.  And oh the events that would proceed, could make a bold man meek. But whatever it is about this you may think, you're mistaken indeed. This is a ballad on the balance of self-esteem, not a soliloquy about poor pitiful me. An antidote obtainable with feats, like summiting a peak, without the oxygen to breathe. Frankly, I'm commenting on the activity of viability and its accompanying mystique. And like life is brief, and such is the simile, so to will I be, explicit in my speech, Ironically, and luckily for me, there were thirteen givers of sanguis. So I mustn't behave solipsistically but channel this vulnerability, once met wit...

By a myriad of muses, I find myself touched by music.  The sound of the movement, of her vocal chords is beauty.  Oh the amalgamation of vibration, I'll never get used to it. I don't know why I'm affected as I am, but damn. It's as though I'm Adam in the Creation of Man. Instead of God, it's a B Minor reaching out to my hand. With every note struck, I'm held captive to this madness. I'm flattened, and find this pattern impossible to fathom. Like a ripple in the fabric, creation had happened. To the producer, never stop what you do. You bring from the heavens a jewel. You can turn a wise man into a fool. A simple exercise into a school.  My ears are to music what my soul is to fuel.

The years have faces. With eyes, now shut, seen many moons faded. We are the product of people and places. And somehow, somewhere, a tree was created. I wonder what that tree was made of. Who might have rested under her, where it was shaded? And where might the wind have blown the seeds of her making? History is often nameless, Timeless and dateless, Amidst the movement of the ages. But I feel that history in my veins and,  I feel the stories that have taken place in,  A dozen towns and cities that remained. And in another dozen that are degraded. The faces of the generations, posthumously waiting,   In patience, breath abated, While yet another tree is originating. To sprout another lineage, beautifully latent. This is the cycle of life, fugacious and nascent. And we are the fruit of the tree, temporal and sacred.

All the days of my life have seen to it that I write these words. The experiences of my time collide, and clarity emerges. In the midst of that great chaos, I took a hard look at my assertions. I dealt with my burdens and now good fortune bourgeons. A magnificent tree beckons before me, and I'm awestruck by its beauty. And the regret I once felt flees, as gratitude accompanies the certainty. Although I certainly wish that some things had happened differently, I ought to be, cognizantly, more accustomed to life's unpredictability. It's indeed the treasure of consciousness to know your own mind. To place great importance on the position you occupy in time. But it's equally meaningful to recognize the vanity of this line:  "I have the answers, the rhythm and rhyme of this life are mine" I see now, that in this life, if you are awake and alive, Each new day there is a sun rise, more than just the sun shines. The lessons of time plot a line, and form Jacob's La...

Psychologists and philosophers alike have devoted centuries' long research to the various stages of the human psyche - charting our conscious path through this life, on aggregate. Much of said research has been focused on adolescent development with far fewer attention given to the stages of adulthood. Psychologists like Freud and Jung prioritized the adult consciousness in their work, viewing it as a superposition of adolescent precondition and mature designation, albeit less concretized simply due to the mathematical consequentiality for which the influence of conscious choice complicates. Life is like a game of chess, there are only so many "openings", but after just the first 4 moves it contains almost infinite possibilities. There are patterns in the end game, when the pieces are reduced to the minimum, but it is almost impossible to study the middle game, which is the vast majority of duration. This analogy lays the groundwork for the rationalization of a deep conne...

Sometimes I wonder what it's all for. In these smoke filled rooms the truth is obscure. The wisdom of my forefathers appears like a blur.  And I question the real reasons that things occur.  Am I the only one who dreams of a future, In which liberty and strength are essential to culture? Where the seed of freedom is accessible to nurture, And the safety of my family is something I can ensure. I wish I was more positive about the direction of modernity.  I wish my children could be confident in the idea of meritocracy. Where conservatism and virtue weren't staples of the heterodoxy. But cornerstones of every street corner in the Land of the Free. I wish I could be me without the repercussions of tyranny. Freedom has never been free, we will always fight to make it reality. 

I ask myself, am I worthy?  As prospect dawns and opportunity arises, I wonder, have I taken the right journey? Do I deserve it?  When the conversation strikes and the truth emerges, Did I earn it?  Suddenly I lash out, and question the questioner; You, who know nothing of my character,  Will be judge, juror and executioner? And should the gavel deem irredeemable,  What then, for this man in the mirror? What then, am I to do with this fear? And then a calm comes over me, and answers appear. I remember the nights I clutched my gut in despair.  And I remember the decisions I made without anyone near. Deep in my heart I know my intentions are sincere. I leave the question of my worth to the wisdom of years, And let my actions speak louder than the words in your ears.

When I entered college in 2014 I was naïve. I was underdeveloped. I wasn't anywhere near the person I am today. But that is why young people are full of potential. The duty bestowed upon a young individual is to convert that potential into kinetic energy - to make something of themselves. I had interests back then, I've always been interested in cars and sports and politics. I had some knowledge and some experience. But I had little direction. I knew what I needed to do but I didn't know what I wanted to do. I knew what the world told me I needed to be, but I didn't know who I wanted to be.  When I met Zach I was a Sophomore in college, but when I really met him, I was a Junior. Coming off a devastating breakup, he was there as a true, genuine friend, no strings attached, no biases, no barriers. Zach is an introvert, like myself, and introverts channel their quiet focus into interests and introspection, sometimes singularly and even sometimes detrimentally. He'd spe...