A narrow band of color, runs its joyous way from the red orange of the dawn of night to the cool blueish green of the oceans beginning. I can’t breathe, but not because the air is thin or because my lungs ache, but because I realize that only when two beds of clouds seperate me from myself, my self stuck in duality yet begging for monotony, am I able to appreciate this vivid Technicolor. I see emotions on the horizon. I feel red and beg for green, I feel green and I fear blue.
What, pray be, lies at childhoods end? This volcanic rainbow streak leading to the storms of the ocean repeats itself in two directions, over and over. But I see always that I am safer clinging to a sense of obstinance from responsibility. My carapace is shed slowly.
I always flutter around the overarching point on this subject. I annoint myself with holy oils and close my eyes. Now, I travel to a place where the earth is split apart. Its still dark yet I am very awake. Yay, the Vedas of old say fools sleep with the illusion of wisdom. Conjured has been the smoke of wisdom, in the fires of my grey matter, but the desire for pleasantness and everlasting sustenance will always be at war with that wisdom.
Lest we shine a mirror upon it.
So, to be a man will likely mean more than the journey to the center of the earth or the power of Thor’s hammer blindly through the mist. For as is told, once again by the stories of old, an eye for an eye suffices not for the innate ignorance we are born with. Rather, take two eyes the minute you realize what it means to be blind.
Hence is the steady passion towards god. At least, among waterfalls I’ve never had such a problem with this, and that is a good omen as I head for a week in a cold northern oasis