(stream of consciousness freeform post, me sitting in my office with music and then… this.)
as bolero plays I am inextricably drawn, no, transported to a transformation, into the dawn of seasons, to spring, to observe the saplings, the probing buds, all the green things, the rise of life from fallow-dead-white fields, months shallow now filled eyes out to the horizon brim, plum blossoms sun-bursting in celestial parades, off carried by a gentle hand – a tender breeze, seed stars dance like human figurines, in this glorious ballroom of renewal, yes, bolero, more so than vivaldi’s reckoning, I do not know why, but that reminds me of spring in full swing, not this, not the uprising whistling just past the thaw, the burgeoning tide of dawn, where bird’s chatter is that much more amplified – melody, more – harmony, epiphany, the perfect score for the painted landscape being re-born, yes, bolero, tickles my ear, punches the ticket when I am on board, elucidates a dreaming dream to sweep away the doldrums of this daily day, for I see snow, and the icy remains, but no, bolero has brought me the inspired warmth of spring – if only for a moment as graces my auditorium.
“All the ways into this grot were then sealed against the entry of water or aught else, all save one.” — J. R. R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, 1954
I think about this often, no matter how clever I am, no matter how smart, I am human, and subject to fault, regardless of how many thousands of times I have done things right, and how I can pull results from thin air at times, I am not a robot nor a computer, although my coworkers might accuse me of either, I am well aware of my fallibility, my humanity, my mortality, we all reflect on it in days like these, Kobe Bryant is just another person, a very talented one in his field, I want no one to die but I mourn more for his young daughter that had not the chance to live, he lived, he had an amazing life, cut short, as are so many given history, but a 10 year old boy was shot in Newburgh NY today as well, those are the ones I mourn for, the ones that didn’t have the chance to reflect on life like I can and have, I feel a guilt and a shame for not being everything every minute I could be, I am not sure where to take it, if life matters at all, I have made it this far, I will continue on but have I squandered it all…. so I question, so I breathe… so I try to be that better person even if the end is the same…
the twin lives of selfishness and selflessness truly a world divided, a yin and yang, chang and eng, the tried, true and classic black and white cookie, still the two could not be more distinct but should they be? or more symbiotic than you might think, poor ole selfishness seems languished in reputation while selflessness is bathed glowingly in the perpetual limelight of hero worship, however, as with a book and it’s cover it pays to look under the surface, the subterranean is always harder to explore, you need the guiding light of the mind and a dash of some adventurous spirit (and perhaps a good pair of boots and sturdy rope), so let me make a case in the defense of selfishness, at some point you must have a drop of this, or a dollop of it added to your bloodstream, think of this infusion as a valid component of the prescription for self preservation, you are being carried away by raging waters, you must find a tree limb or other outcrop to hold onto, and from there, perhaps, you can furnish the rescue of others, but blind loyalty to selflessness may lead to needless death, for yourself, and those you might mean to save, all an equation, but one that must be mastered by the mind as instinct in a framework in which to act when called upon or needed, I have unfortunately read many an account where someone has jumped into a certain situation only to perish themselves, so, at least in this instance selfish was a bridge to selfless, complete and utter selflessness would have lead to further tragedy and served no one well, brief #2, a selfishness on the stand, if you do not take the time to keep your house in order how can you honor others? cross examine that for a spell, for the young knight who charges off into the battle in full shining armor, with gleaming honor, perfect edge to a shining blinding sword, and all the best intent ringing in his spurs, or consider the aged knight, war weary, battled in spirit, no less noble, perhaps a bit more selfish in the past as it has gotten him this far, and the poor young night now has the distinct experience with his head upon a spike, glorious helmet quite upright, chivalry may die quickly upon the shields of the young, and then perhaps there is the knight that only knows the love of gold, for he will truly die fat, happy, and quite alone, because in the realm of coin there are no citizens, only denizens of no self, a desert land of the self less, there seems to be some merit resident in selfishness to consider, when used as a tool to build and not a house to hold.
music to ponder the universe to: (ambient space goodness)