it seemed that he was never able to look away,
though such inner insomnia also had its price.
.
.
171
all attempts at clarity,
especially those successful,
only ever seemed to lead
to further obscurity.
.
.
170
there came a point when it appeared
that those who genuinely cared,
not for themselves but for others,
could only ever live in perpetual grief.
.
.
169
though quite sombre by nature,
he nonetheless found it difficult
to take things too seriously;
especially upon realizing that eternity
was only ever perceived
in the most fleeting of glimpses.
.
.
168
and what of the fact that the lightness he often felt
could just as easily bear down with incredible force
almost crushing him?
.
.
167
of course, there were rough patches, that was inevitable. what was
unsettling was the fact that his pleasures, too, were quite unforgiving.
leaving him to marvel that he experienced any joy at all, even at the
best of times.
.
.
166
the day eventually came,
which of course was no surprise,
when he began to wonder
how to discern between true silence
and what he suspected to be
a certain inner deafness
to which he seemed increasingly prone.
. .
164
while sitting there, waiting for his lunch,
he began to ponder his options.
but no matter what he came up with
it always came down to pouring
from the empty into the void.
.
.
163
the world always appeared to offer a choice:
one could plunge into it
or simply skate across its surface—
either way he was left gasping for air.
.
.
156
going to take his seat,
it suddenly dawned on him
that, no matter where he sat,
he always seemed to be sitting
on the edge of the light.
.
.
154
it appeared that one of the most common mistakes was in equating
perfection with happiness, for undoubtedly there was also no shortage
of what he had come to term "dark perfection."
.
.
153
having sacrificed the better part of himself,
he now suspected that only those offerings
that were proffered by no one,
to no one,
would be accepted.
.
.
151
in what, for him, amounted to grace,
whenever it all went to hell in a handcart,
(as it almost always inevitably did)
he tended to find even the desolation
resplendent.
.
.
149
it didn't seem to matter where he was, or where he went, his doubt,
as well as that of others, always followed him – even more faithfully
than his own shadow.
.
.
148
he could often be found
looking out the window,
gazing towards the origin.
until that inevitable day
when he will have turned
and gone to stand blind
on the threshold.
.
.
146
rising early he took the opportunity to watch the world form.
the rest of the day would then be spent wondering why it never
actually amounted to anything substantial.
.
.
145
to his ever-increasing dismay, he came to suspect that it wasn't the truth
that was being sought, but rather only the experience of truth--and even
then only if it was pleasant.
.
.
144
it was easy to turn away from himself, or so it seemed, but no matter
how hard he tried it seemed impossible to turn away from others.
.
.
143
cupping his hand to his ear,
he closed his eyes
and held his breath,
listening for even
the faintest echo
of the light.
.
.
142
of the fragility of the world,
he retreated into his shell
in order to reacquaint himself
with his own.
.
.
139
messiahs,
if messiahs there were,
grew slowly,
had to be tended with care.
although he suspected
that any fruit they might bear
was already to be found,
full and ripe, in the hole
into which the seed
had fallen.
.
.
133
one day, passing the shelves in his garage, he thought that it might be
worth an attempt to store the sun in some jars. over the following
weeks he carefully bottled what he felt would be a sufficient amount in
case of emergency. but after the winter had passed, he looked at the
glowing collection and thought it all seemed so selfish; so he took off
all the lids and waited for the clouds.
131
over the years he had come to prefer the existence of a hermit--
it was so much easier to renounce his solitude when he was alone.
.
130
there was a lot of talk about victory, but he wasn't sure he saw anything
that needed defeating.
besides, on the few occasions that he did decide to join in, by the time
he put on his armor and chose the appropriate weapon the battle was
already over anyway.
.
129
messengers came, in all shapes and sizes,
telling him things of greater or lesser import.
yet, no matter the message they carried,
he always received them and gave them his full attention,
so that each and every one might depart unburdened.
.
127
someone mentioned that they were putting on some music in order to
drown out the music playing in their head. as this sounded like a
plausible methodology, he decided to try a similar strategy in
regards to stupidity.
after several attempts he deemed the experiment a success, but he
came out looking the fool just the same.
.
126
he found it preferable
to keep the eyes open
on the off chance that he might
catch a glimpse of the breathless
.
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