I sat in quiet resignation at a table in a secret garden at the zenith of summer to attempt a consultation with the Powers That Be; those illusive forces without names that seem to play at our strings as we are marionettes, dancing, loving, losing, fighting, killing, succeeding and failing without fail. I forgave them for their silence. I chose to forego the most cliche of questions and requested only that they infuse me with knowledge of what will be.
They spoke through the foliage, in full bloom at this zenith of summer, causing the lush greens to sway almost imperceptibly in the breeze. They made a promise; that the only thing they could guarantee is change. I accepted this; that kingdoms rise and fall as do men and women, into and out of their prime in a minuscule flash. I accepted that, if not for this promise, nothing would hold any significance, we would not matter, I would not matter.
I accepted that the only currency of value is love, as time is an illusion and currency in our sense of the word is a fallacy, creating value where it does not exist and removing the same from the experiences that should indeed matter. Our prized bank notes create vast expanses of space between brothers and sisters; differences that would otherwise be non-existent. They mask innumerable similarities through the perpetuation of the grand lie that is socioeconomic status.
I accepted that this will hurt. It must, as pain creates in its wake its opposite, which we seek relentlessly using all of the wrong techniques. ‘Your stroke could use some more work, Jim.’ Yes it could. Keep missing, missing, missing, and eventually you will hit. In the meantime, try only to avoid living out the very definition of insanity; doing the same thing over and… (you’re welcome for the apex of all cliches).
Image not my own
thestrangestlifeivelived 