I saw the crumbling golden leaves of autumn and a terror grabbed my mind taking all other thought away – I the man of clay turned flesh and blood – I the man have limited time to do my will – I am not immortal – I will die. The thought took me: do we really long for death? Maybe life without death is even more horrifying – just having to live the same person at a dead-end job forever – the idiot that did all those stupid things and must live with them forever. No escape, no way to remake ourselves, we need death to put us back together again. There is great pleasure in conception.
The horror of death is in not having lived, all the unheeded opportunity to accomplish a personal magnum opus. Surely there is some greater purpose for every man and woman alive – the hero in us all – the inventor – the artist – the poet – the warrior – by living fully we come to realize our destiny. A destiny that was once born in our minds – a possibility. How will you recognize that possibility? You will fall in love with it – it will be your passion.
Ignorance is the source of hatred, which finds expression in anger founded in fear inherited from our empire of Self –importance. I am too big to fall. We hate everything that threatens our security – particularly the security of knowing we are right. This obscure thought is what keeps the conservative ideology alive, what is left is freedom.
This takes me back to my original thoughts upon seeing the falling leaves of autumn. They have been set free to float joyously though the air to land on earth and dissolve into the earth. Does it matter? Yes! It feeds the roots and rises though the branches to blossom into new life. Sin is to deny life – the very word of sin.
To write I must shut out the world and open up my heart – it is focusing on the essential. It is ignoring nothing and becoming. I must allow no significant detail slip by or go unnoticed. I must fulfill my intent – this is the love of it all – the wonder. Failure is not considered, only the music and art of words.