Times come and go - regular, like the clockwork stroke of the hour, on the hour. Yes, time does indeed subscribe to the march of the wooden soldiers. Endlessly one can view the vista from the comfort of one's lawn chair and delegate to some far-off time and space those things which one should be doing now, but how can one enjoy the benefits of a lazy and unproductive life of leisure embroiled in those things which guarantee the inevitable? Alas we all become the carriers of time since our step in solidity. Is has been said that breaking free of free will is best left to those travellors well-versed in the fine and performing arts of what can only be described as 'eternity'. It's a short leash to be attached to but it certainly is a pleasant day to be so attached.
Gazing across the far-off lands of greener pastures the fence always seems to be in the way clearly demarcating the line and lines of our own lack and limitation. How can one possibly lack in such eternity as previously mentioned? How can one possibly accept the limitation of being knowing only too well that in limitation happiness becomes apparent? One can find all one wishes but is that really the purpose and plan - to 'discover' what is already well established? Forgetting is not all that it is cracked up to be but please don't let me spoil the fun of living in a self-made ignorance where one's favorite expression exudes the cry: "But I didn't know!"
The Earth is catching up to it's proclivity and so the signage has come to be changed proclaiming the new store-front. It doesn't really matter since the story has already been told but it is understandable that some prefer reading the ink upon the papers of life, line by line, character by character in order to, you know, take in all in. Not all can hear the wake up call and so over-sleep, once again late for the plantation fields of till and toil. What's that you say? Where have all the good people gone? Why, you are right here, right now - have you so easily forgotten your own nature in order to play with an imaginary friend? Sacrifice can be a bitter pill to swallow much in the same way of one's game of truth and consequences.
Resting in solitude, no Man is an island and yet the ocean is full of them. Of what use can consciousness be if one belies it's existence? Is it just a case of everyone being on the wrong channel in today's line-up? Gazing in wonder upon the phosphorescent waves of attraction do we find ourselves embracing the roles we must play in order for Creation to come to a fruition we have absolutely no hope of understanding or even glimpsing? Where one comes to fight tooth and claw against the enemy of our dreams what does that say about the reality of our own perceived existence? Do we really have such a thing in the fist place or it is all a case of mistaken imagination?
When one sees what is it that presents itself before one's eyes? When we take it all in what is it that we ingest? Man's domain remains in thought so what is it that you are really waiting for? What is it that awaits your arrival? By the sound of it, it must be of some great importance but then again, who isn't? Is it not the 'who" but the 'what' that determines fate? Perhaps it's the 'why' - but in wandering that dead-end tunnel of love surely only the truly brave or completely stupid finish first. So which is it?
Sometimes I wonder at the wonder of it all but I really never do. Do you get my drift?
The same can be said of by-gone conclusions, time line events and about 99.99% of Man's other 'interests'. But really - what does that have to do with anything?
Questioning one's actions can sometimes be quite revealing on how the Universe presents itself for you. Did you really think that your imagination would welcome you home with such high regard? Why else do we turn a blind eye to the truth before us with such ease and 'grace'. In order to sustain our sense of individuality we breed the sense of separation and in this created experience we strive to find true happiness. Perhaps this is where 'brave' and stupid' merge and become all that we wish to become.
Even in that the Universe will provide. Some forget that it's not the Universe which is the playground of Man but it is Man that is the playground of the Universe and beyond that there is no free will, no 'choice' and no playground at all. It's not about some pie-in-the-sky supreme being which rules over all other beings (with a tip of the hat to the hierarchy) but about the redirection of one's perception away from self-indulgence and towards something of far, far greater value. We could all groom ourselves before the mirror until the cows come home but perfection will always require still more. Is that not a clue? Can one run away with one's imagination and never come back?
I suppose that is the point.