He had
dreams, he had ambitions and he often saw his future as something rewarding and
distant from his past. He came from a
place that didn’t inspire beauty or thought for that matter. It’s not like it was their fault, the town’s
people, his family, his mother and father.
They adapted to the banality of their environment, just as they were supposed
to. But he was different for some reason;
he saw the sun rise and thought of grand possibility. He thought of a future that included his
ideas because right now they lived in a place where ideas laid like corpses in
morgues.
The powerful
play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
That’s all he wanted was to contribute a verse, something that adds to
the odd poem that is life. He was well
read in spite of growing up with, for the most part, illiterate people. No one guided him into the arms of
Shakespeare or invited him to a conversation with Socrates. He was alone with his thoughts and had no one around him to share them with.
He knew that
great art existed between the symbolic order and the order of the Real. He knew that talented minds carved their
paintings or their poems or their songs from this place that forces itself
outside of the trappings of the language order.
He knew that it was there that many will never travel or explore for it’s
a frontier that is known only by few.
This place
can be dangerous for those without the mental discipline to rest upon its
shores. For most, when words are absent
and meaning is abandoned violence prevails.
The point is, if you are going on this journey to the cliffs of language
you have to be prepared to see a pit of darkness, a pit that necessitates a
leap of faith that most are not prepared to do.
For him,
while he is aware of this journey and is willing to take its leap, he remains
shackled to his parents’ teachings of simplicity and fear. He is grounded when he only wishes to
fly. But what is this….? Why isn’t he able to just change? He wants to, he feels he’s ready to, but yet
he doesn’t. He remains frozen while
longing for the sun’s rays to free him from his mental trap.
His parents,
his whole family, his neighborhood he grew up in, his area of town and the city
he was from all followed a set of rules handed to them with an understanding of
unconditional faith. A faith in knowledge
and that being whatever the rule was, it was tested through a series of trial
and error experiments and is now set for all to learn from. The problem with this is the same problem
that religions hold over their flock and that is; conform to these rules
because conforming to the rules was itself a rule. With this, many minds fell blindly into the snare
of groupthink.
His thoughts
were often consumed with this plight of inaction that seems to be within his
very being. He thought of the suffocating
tragedy of being helpless in spite of himself. Regardless of what he understands about
himself and the world on a psychological level, here he is, still the little
boy, by necessity that believes in the fantasy of the world with which he was
presented and is left with…...what? Does
he just stay prisoner to the ignorant sensibility of his upbringing? He’s beginning to wonder if he is impervious
to change. Was change and remapping yourself a possibility?
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