The Busy Have No Time To See
Out in the Night of our daydreams, we battle foes everywhere we turn our gaze. Looking upon the fields of destruction, little do we realize that we keep such a messy, messy house. As the carnage spills out into the streets, our attention moves as well. Never taking a moment to see, we become enraptured with our own being. After all, can there ever be anything else but us? Can there ever be any other thing than that to which we have grown quite accustomed to?
Inbreeding brings about decay but when is it that we will become enlightened to that fact? Forever placing upon the horizon our hopes and dreams, we journey evermore, always yearning to capture what is 'out there'. Endlessly justifying our existence, all that is left to be done is more of the same. Isn't it amazing the depths to which our stupidity calls home? Why not just poke the other eye out as well and be done with it.
In our journey of no return the baggage which we call ourselves becomes packed so tightly that all of our future efforts will not deny us the ability to carry more. We must carry that which reflects 'us' and so our burden, heavy and gross that it is, becomes an accepted part of our lives. Eventually, we see no other way in which to live. Is it any wonder that the promise of salvation beckons to us so fervently? What advantages can be gleaned from rising above our dreams while dreaming.
Perhaps, after a time and fashion, an entirely new approach is warranted. Can our dreamy existence take such a flight of fancy? Losing one's baggage while travelling is so very disturbing. Shall we justify ourselves even further?
Through our hopes and dreams we give ourselves life but despite the extreme effort, no one ever leaves here alive. Giving ourselves life, who, in their right mind, would ever think of taking it all away? And for what?
There is no room for building some future fantasy world in which to strive when all that we will ever have, is right here, right now. Trying to make the world into something different is like carrying a beach towel with you on a trip to the frozen Arctic. Is there something out of place here?
But of course, the busy have no time to see.