Actually Matters

Weighed by nothing; the tribesmen wander; each as nomads.

Men enter rooms with shadows of doom tucked within their deep pockets. They have weapons, armed with bullets of high expectations and hidden requirements. Never do they meet; always are they buffered by labels of strangeness and remorseful reserve at the face of potential intimacy. Their eyes dart to the left and right as if anxious to end the encounter and begin the next with the same callous measure. Too many ‘toos’ fill the air, stuffing the room with a brusque awful scent. Too tall, too fat, too stupid, too rigid, too little, too, too, too, and on it goes without repose.

Men require everything of each other, and this wall of expectation builds an impermeable barrier to ever meeting one another. And by that forgone meeting, never, or rarely, do they ever come to understand one another. Every boy, girl, woman and man upon the face of this earth carries this burden to some appreciable degree. The health of cultures can in fact be measured by its intensity, convolution, and the extent of its influence upon the communal light that burns in each others eyes by coal, kindled flame, or scorching fire.

“What,” the old wise hermit asks, “is the point of spending the short time alloted to you by judging everyone and everything?” What an awful waste of energy, and yet how glaringly obvious it now is why the great majority live out a significant chunk of their earthly careers on weighing and measuring their outer experiences by some alienating standard. For the standards they use are not their own, nor do they truly recall from where and when they learned to judge by these codes and rules. It seems to have been implanted and imparted in them by external means, likely passed down from one generation to the next like the successive patterns seen in the heritage of bees and ants.

Comedy and satirical depictions are the only way to clearly communicate the grotesque consequences of having these conditions continue without rivaling opposition. There is an organic conscience lying dormant behind these iron bars of psychological judgments. It is available, if nourished and developed, to provide all the guidance one needs to navigate between and through the relative goods and evils of social existence. It is quite enough to live by this innate moral compass alone than to depend upon the coarse and cluttered routines of a mind gone mad with expectations. For everything can be made into a routine except that which actually matters.

Simple are many things if one remains quiet long enough. Silence can be the trick, or sleight of hand, that confers credit and recognition to even the foulest behaviours found on this mortal toil. It will simply not exist in a moment, whatever phenomenon happens to please or displease us now. The man or woman you passed by just a second ago will one day die and, from that point of view, what good or of what value is your judgment? There is a dignity to the greatest and lowest of all things, and to see its mortality in the moment of its vivified existence, is surely a wisdom.


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