2.17.12

The thinking man is always in a search of words.

Wonderful words to express the being that swells inside him.

It is his first act of creative desperation: the desire to express.

In that journey he finds himself, for the first time,

and is struck by the strangeness of their fated meeting.

A dialogue swells up inside him, and the courtship begins.

The awkward tango of solitude, a dance for one.

And so the philosophical convention of self-realization

develops the organic and free into the rigid and numerical.

Yes, express the soul into words, as God into Scriptures.

Indeed, man will always feel uneasy, 

for he will often doubt his endeavor: 

Are these the words I have sought for?

Are these words who I am?

Am I really so?

Undoubtedly, man will plunge himself into skepticism,

always pondering the question is it really so?

My sympathies go out to this man,

for the truth has always been a daunting task.

Perhaps, his questions will meet

the more wry mistress: Cynic.

She would whisk away his worries

with a delightful scorn, absolving

all those innocent questions and doubts

of its due weight and consequence.

Yes, all is well in his cool nonchalance,

he finds his superior jugments liberating.

Make love to her vainer fabrications,

and damn yourself in hubris.

I pray he grows out of such foolishness,

and seek the company of greater thoughts,

but will he find courage to seek anew?

Who knows but the child himself?

Perhaps truth would blow a kiss from afar

to woo the fragile hearts

and compell the child within

to inspire once more,

to inquire once more,

to dance once more,

and venture to find her words.

When he should find it,

the words he so longed for,

would he cease to be man anymore?

Since he would know all his being

and have transcribed into them

the truth of his soul.

Perhaps such divine transcendence

was never meant for mortals,

for in the great epoch of self-ignorance

God's omnipotence, his governance

over our limited being is glorified.

Perhaps such are the reasons

for her shyness; the truth forever resides inside,

and in those few moments of brilliance

man experience ever so rarely,

it gasps for air 'til its sunk

once more into the murky depths 

and swallowed whole by the

monstrous questions

we dared to

fathom.