oswulf: (Default)
There is a war. Always a war. And the details change. The sides change. Everything changes but the war remains. The same war fought over and over and over. And we mock the people fighting over the things and using the excuses that we did yesterday, mocking their backdrop even as we continue the same behavior. Scenery doesn’t change the nature of the beast.

Doctor King said that the arc of history is long but it bends toward justice. And I believe that—usually. But as the issue of the day passes into yesterday, as we feel so superior to our ancestors over classism or papal indulgences, slavery, genocide, mutilations, women’s suffrage, anything. Time and again, individual wrongs evolve from a given to heatedly contested to horror-inducing and disdained. And yet the same battle will rise and play out again.


Well here’s a pattern. Very different things but parallel… wossname… way I am sort of thing.

Need to make better food choices… so stop an unhealthy choice. But if you don’t *replace* it with something, you’re setting yourself up for failure.

And now unhealthy monkey choices. But if I just cast them aside, if I stop unhelpful ‘zone 4’ activities but I don’t REPLACE them with anything… I’m still not getting anything zone 1 or 2 done—just… setting myself to stumble across some other zone 4 activity for the monkey to play with.


Random typing. Throwing thoughts onto paper. Thoughts of at best questionable value. Is there any reason to keep it? And if I do… where? And what chance that I ever even look at it again? So often writings and stories and whatnot become part of some mess, looked at only while cleaning & faced with the decision to keep or discard… then again ignored until the next cleaning after that.


Trigorin (I am almost certainly spelling that wrong) speaks of the trials of writing. Feeling that he should put forth about “life and science and the rights of man” and worrying that he is only a scenery painter. I see that. I want to write stories—at least I think that’s what I want. Flights of fantasy, tongue-in-cheek repartee awash among fantastical worlds. But then… I want to write meaning. Perhaps addressing cruelty and compassionlessness is the fuel I need, perhaps I simply despair of value in my life when I am not adding something productive toward a better future. “I am Ozymandius, King of Kings. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.”


“What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Are the revealing of a deeper thirst this world can’t satisfy?”
--Blessings, Laura Storey


It’s not just the conflict, it is how we deal with the conflict. The ends does not justify the means. In the long run, the means ARE the end. As fervently as I maintain that the true path lies not in picking a side and valiantly raging against the other, but in seeing how we can all work together and do better by everyone—that same philosophy should apply to how I carry forward that argument.


And sooner or later, is this whole line of babbling just another zone 4 plaything of my procrastination monkey? Am I genuinely progressing toward resolving something, toward some breakthrough of… something… or is this just the same old cycle?
oswulf: (Default)
In the beginning, everything broke.

We have such metaphors that allow us to comprehend the world. We accept imprecision as the price of that comprehension. And so we have stories and metaphors. We are told of a beautiful garden, of the fruit which launched us into descent, and it is perhaps only natural to understand the allegory sequentially, to imagine that ‘there was a time’ when things were better.

But that’s not what time is. There was not a time before the shattering because prior to the shattering there was no need for time to exist at all. Time was merely one of the little demons that escaped the opening of Pandora’s box. It is no co-incidence that everything broke in the beginning. Because the breaking of everything is an inseparable part of the beginning.

In the beginning everything broke. Broke, fractured, separated. Since the beginning, stars have moved further and further from one another. Entropy has slowly worked its’ insidious dance tearing apart and winding down all life, all motion, all connection, all that is was or ever shall be. We are dying. Dying too is an inseparable part of beginning. Life, be it metaphorical or literal, is a terminal disease. If there is a beginning then there is an end.

It is not about returning to a time before everything broke. There is no time before everything broke. It is about mending the rifts that can never be mended. But ‘never’ is a limitation which becomes meaningless when time is transcended. It is about achieving a state that never existed. But when time is cast aside then it need no longer be a hinderence.

In the beginning everything broke and began to fall apart. And we exist in time where everything unravels. Why then, do we have hope? Why then do we imagine that there can be escape? Is it not because everything that is descends to us from before the beginning? Is it not because there is still that within us which denies the facts we see in favor of the truth we know? Is it not because we are all intimately connected to that which is beyond the reach of time?

Invisible threads descend throughout all that is. Invisible thread that unite, that barest shred of preserved unity boldly defying the shattering. There is nothing in time’s purview that will not fall before its’ great and horrible inevitability. But the very core of us is not within time’s purview. And it rests within us to build that core, to nurture that core, to seek the impossible goal of driving out completely the virus of time and in fighting the unwinnable fight we aggrandize our inevitable victory.

It was broken from the beginning. But we are no slaves to the beginning.

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