Repeated Seasons

Lightly floating at higher elevations, a man forgets all about the inevitability of a fall. He gets lost in the pleasantness of the moment and forgets to prepare for the future and remind himself of the past. Reality is fraught with changing climates, unexpected showers and storms, and the sightings of unexpected happenings. Those who either cling to the past, or savour the moment, or plan for the future, are all equally insane. Somehow he must bear them all in mind or he is doomed to sleep when he needs to be awake. Somehow he must manage to attain the ideal of holding all three in constant suspension. He should remember the past, the now and the future all at once. Failing to do so for any of these three leaves that most important element hidden in the shadows where the only good that can arise is an accidental boon. This is the condition of the hamster on the wheel, assuming you are in motion when no distance whatsoever can ever be covered. Eyes coated with a film of fantasy, a beaming smile of a clown, these hamsters of men think they are doing things and making progress, when only patterns are repeating, only cycles are biting their tails and recurring anew. The same conditions, the same circumstances, but with different clothes. These are the repeated seasons of a dreamy disposition.


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