Just another day in the paradox of life, left swirling around in dismay between night and day, and the time spent wondering if any second away from living was worth it at all. Sometimes one can feel as if life has him on a treadmill, just running in place and the harder he pushes the more he realizes that he just will go nowhere until he stops running. Hell, even if in the stopping he gets thrown back a few feet, at least it is movement in some direction.
To serve so many masters in one day…absurd in the undertaking and fruitless in the effort. One cannot fathom the solitude of a day like this, the absolute insanity of it all. Striving to succeed where there appears to be no success in the offing, working to seek balance on a poorly balanced fulcrum, realizing that there are not enough hours in this day and not enough sympathetic ears to hear your plight. In such solitude one finds himself, either in joyful adoration of the moments he spends following his passion, or in quiet desperation of realizing that he simply is not.
To have the vision of passion stolen from you in a moment’s serene passing, barely noticeable to the thief yet oddly painful to the victim, one can forget to scream so silently as to not let the thief steal even that moment of emotion. To be so true to oneself as to let the thief feel the brunt of the loss, to steal back just one iota of respect from those so quick to take it from you is but a second pleasure to the realization that what was taken from you was never yours to begin with. In the lesson you hope to reduce the strain, and somehow the effort is but strain itself.
To those who would attest some ownership over me, take heed you own nothing, as I am all of nothing. To those who would insanely lay claim to a soul completely lost yet searching for a way to be found, be still in the moment you realize you have but grasped at air. To those who would shun me as a bastard stepchild, be cautioned that I may be shunned but I will not shun, for love is not given to be received, but given to be given. Take time, understand your complexities, and be so simple as to reach out with an outstretched hand. You will not be empty, you will not be forlorn, your will be loved in the simplicity for which love is.
And simple it is.
All things allowed in their simplicity are the best of things. All efforts made in their most simple form are worthwhile. All times drawn down to their most simple of moments are beautiful in themselves. It is not about solving the complexities of life, it is about transforming such complexities to their simplest forms. In those moments of simplicity, one can find purpose, light, and love. Love is simple, love never is complex, it is the basics of life and the mystery of all that is. To be in love is to find the purity of simplicity. To feel such tinge of hatred burn at one’s heart is to cloud life with complexity; such difficulties can be remedied with the slightest touch of a lover’s hand, the soft kiss of your other, the sweet embrace of your child. It is simple, it is beautiful and it is glorious.