One Seat Tables
There is an inherent danger in seeking the genius of the past, the truly in touch with the world and its unseen mystery. Next to the goddesses of kowledge, hidden in the romantic forests of truth and wisdom, sit the guardians of that knowledge - the beasts named insanity. And their bite delivers a venom for which there is no remedy: the poison of solitude, the toxicity of uninterrupted introspection. It seems though the woods welcome many - indeed, this goddess sings to all the masses - most just turn away. And the few who enter the forest they smell the wind, and watch the brooks do their babbling but come sunset, night in those woods and the songs of a muse like this one, are too much to bear. And so again, most of those few will dabble in the forests only as part time residents. Yet a select couple, a few in every generation will wander to where its darkest. To where there are no distractions to comfort the eye away from the mind's questioning. There is no music, there are no ipods, no family, no friends. Just a continuous monologue, which reads from invisible walls the scribbling of history's hermits - individuals of the past whose obsession with that goddess brought them to an existence of darkness and deafening silence, where they test the teeth of the beasts which guard the goddess - and play their chances against the insanity that may or may not accomany knowledge. Some of these people wrote books about their lives, some of them ended up talking to trees or invisible friends. Tragedy is, perhaps, best exemplified in that place where a person finds the truths they've sought after for so long, only to realize that the wisdom that allows them to look at a night sky and drink of its profundity, is the very thing that distances them from the person next to them.
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
Post a Comment