Into the Beyond

How sweet is every fruit of life when the scythe has been waved before you and improbably forestalled and evaded for the moment. From this experience comes renewed innocence, invigorated acceptance, and still more invulnerability from all petty misbehavior.

An appreciation of the preciousness and temporal quality of somethingness pervades all senses along with awareness of how a sudden ending makes for a terribly stupid and unsatisfying narrative -- and how much dies undone, could have been done better, and what tremendous unexplored wonder would have been left stillborn. Great art is now seen still richer, subtler, more tender, more human -- a playful battle between the secret agents of animated self-organization against the dissolution of chaotic unravelers.

Neither philosopher nor artist care about the material world, not from opposition or judging it vulgar so much as its simplicity reveals nothing about the roots of meaning, spirit, or expression -- and even strives to block such explorations. Their spirits are perpetually turned toward transcendent transformation and thirsting to reach beyond the edges to uncloak and accept greater reality whether beautiful or horrible. Here they are at home with every contradiction, able to devote themselves to all causes, even acting schizophrenically without symptoms.

Not perpetually running from the security of the middle from discontent, but from insatiable curiosity and ability to fund ridiculous exploratory missions with an excess of energy, speculation, and desire. It's never done until it's done, but it will surely be over too soon.

Until then I love every taste.