Showing posts with label Prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prose. Show all posts
Sunday, December 1, 2013
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Perfect Permanence

It's far too easy to think of life as wasted; that's especially true when you feel like nothing is permanent. Even the Buddhist, his life built on the concept of ephemeral reality, can rely on his belief as something of a compass rose. If your life has become a series of supposed failures punctuated by long-lost lovers, hated jobs, and crushed dreams, what else could you possibly think?

We have too many thoughts, too many dreams, that we think will drive us forward. When it comes down to it, their true conflicting nature is more damaging than a weapon aimed directly for the heart, but we hold on tight, hoping they'll save us. Too many learn far too late that dreams can pull you down faster than anything else. 

The problem lies in our concept of dreams. Why are they called that? Frankly, because they don't exist, because they're near impossible to achieve. "Dreams" need to be reduced to dream; the plural exchanged for the singular. Finding our perfect permanence is about reduction. If you've ever made a sauce, you know that reduction is hugely important for flavor and substance. Just as reduction allows the cook to obtain that perfect flavor, reduction allows the dreamer to find their direction.

It's been said that choice is the enemy of happiness. This is especially true of the dreamer. We think of how we can change the world with words, by giving our time, or just doing something off the beaten path, yet while we decide, all of the options pass us by. In finding our perfect permanence, progress is made, the ephemeral slain, and the dream realized.








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Monday, November 25, 2013
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A Sap Covered Invitiation


Though my days are spent writing, a vacation getaway here, a recipe there, every so often I feel the gentle breeze of pine sap brush ever so lightly across the tip of my over-pronounced nose. It's strange, to say the least; after all, I sit in a room lacking windows, and there are no conifers for a few blocks around my office. Perhaps, then, some form of winter magic beckons me to play?

What do you want with me, Lords of Winter? What would you have me do when my livelihood depends on these letters, linked together, as they are, by purpose and meaning? Should I drop everything to frolic in your falling children, unique to the finest detail? 

Well, I'm certainly beginning to think so. At last, your Douglas Fir-infused aura has weakened my resolve. No longer can I distract myself with a mug of black energy. No longer can I ignore your summons in favor of a lightsaber-wielding avatar. 

I'll close the screen now, shut off the phone that is a constant reminder of things I don't truly need to do, and I'll meet you on the hill. Please, however, keep in mind that I've been away for a while. My belly has swollen, and my legs resemble hams, but I'll try my best to keep up with you; your snowfalls, your woodland denizens, and your constant winds of winter's change.



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Wednesday, November 20, 2013
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Vale Amicum

I remember thinking, once, that you were like a father to me. Of course, I had my own, as so many others do. The thing is, well, at the time I knew you, I hardly knew myself. More often than not I wore the mask of the fool; seems I thought stupidity and arrogance were better traits than understanding and knowledge. I know that now, but it didn't seem to matter to you then. 

I remember the days spent slinging winter revelers down a mountain; you got me a job that I hated but that's besides the point. You knew I needed something more than sunless days spent in front of a computer screen, World of Warcraft intravenously pumping into my system in the same amounts it was poisoning your own flesh and blood. I lost touch with him, with you, and I went away to college.

I remember five years or so later, seeing you at a stop sign. Well, truth be told it was a blinking light and you pulled out in front of me. I cursed you with all the expletives I could muster, guilt seeping in as you nodded toward me in apology. I don't think you realized who I was that day, but once I remembered you, a friend, a man who had done so much for me in rougher years, I wished I'd had a second to say hello instead of a fleeting half-reunion filled with sailor spittle.

Here we are; more years have passed. I hadn't seen you until your name flashed across my screen. Gone. After a separation of time amounting to years, we're too often given to think that feelings fade, that memories and gratitude somehow grow stale. Yet, as my arms began to tremor and images of the pain of someone I once called brother erupted effortlessly, I realized that your impression was lasting, though I hadn't given it any real thought. Not until now. Not until the things I say fall on eternally deaf ears.



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