Of life’s lessons, learnt...unlearnt...re-learnt,
Of love, of strife, of honour, of courage and cowardice alike,
Forgotten; with a few precious ones or the hardest, the few exceptions,
To think- is a luxury few possess, few appreciate.
To think- is an act that few commit.
That not to think is sometimes advisable- few think of.
Of life’s lessons- in love, strife, honour, courage, and cowardice alike,
Making sense of the nonsensical, in a senseless progression of precious seconds ticking by...second, after second, after second...
Sensible, would you say?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe just a matter of perspective, like much of everything else.
Perspective...over this one word I perspire in a hellish second of suspended pain- palms sweaty, skin clammy, stomach in knots, breath threatening to explode...I stop.
One of those times - of thinking thoughts about thinking that few think of.
A thought remained. Slippery little buggers, these thoughts!
Perspective- it isolates, I’ve gathered. Puts you on an island all your own. Stop. Before you get enmeshed in a reality of your making- a fantasy. Your thoughts may be an island. You aren’t. Reality has a way of knocking on your door, breaking it down, and commencing on a rampage of senseless plunder – of dreams, of life, of fantasy. I’ve gathered.
Uh huh, you aren’t an island. Positive. There are others.
Others think. Sometimes.
Think different from you. Often.
Fantasize. Dream. Of things your own- not others’!
Just a thought, (yeah, another one) - The one thing that my will can’t possess, control, determine, the only thing- the will of the other.
Hell is the other. Sartre had said. Smart guy, this, Sartre.
Perspective. Could it be that we can find common ground? Could the islands merge in a great meshing to form mainland that can hold dreams- mine, yours, OURS. Could it ever be? Ever?
Ah, a matter of perspective I guess.
Pardon the language.