On What I "Think"

The Aquarian mind is forever confronted with its own lack of definition. We are, as I once read, "all form and no content." Our personalities are elaborate window-dressings, histrionic performances, designed at best to amuse and delight although never to be taken as substantial. We are merely the receptacles of esoteric knowledge and repositories of other people's stories.

I have made a life of studying other peoples' stories in order to fill the gaps of my own meager experiences. The bardic scop of medieval Celtic cultures was not so much defined by the strength of his personality, but by its subsumption into his song of history, legend, and survival. He belonged collectively to his people and could consequently never be owned by a single human being.

All gather around the warmth of the fire, but the illumination stands always alone.

So when pressed to state that which I believe to be unequivocal, I hesitate. Who am I to speak of what I don't know? Each must take from his experiences what he may, and leave others to form their own conclusions. If what I know does not redeem you, why care? If my musings cannot teach you to live in Dignity, then why pay any attention?

We are undoubtedly very clever critters. We walk on both legs. And we use sophisticated tools. And we speak in increasingly complicated syntactical structures. But to see ourselves as we are is not an experience, but the end of one. To see ourselves as we are makes us rigid. We become Narcissus's reflection in the pool, and unable to pull ourselves away, we calcify, grow rigid, and hollow ourselves out.

But us brave Men...we Aspire.

Deification is the realization of an Ideal within us. To be the most of ourselves is to be godlike. We must be statues of liquid marble, never settling for any mold. We must break ourselves over and over and over again and refuse to harden. Be wary of the Man who professes to tell you who he is. He has already hardened. He has embraced himself prematurely and grown cold.

The object of the game is never to know. But always to reside in the Vails of Hala, in the contemplative shade of ambivalence, and there remain open to the myriad experiences--the panoply of color--the rangeless octaves of possibility.

I am not of my body, which seeks to break me upon my time and place. I am of no time. I am of no place. I am ageless.

There is a simple love in understanding. Of having no expectations. In simply seeing a thing for what it is, and graciously letting it go. We can only really love a thing at the moment we become bored with it. And I refuse to become bored with myself. Consequently, I will never fully understand. And I will never fully love. I will always resent myself for failing to live up to the Ideal. But that resentment is all that keeps me human.

I am not what I am. Nor am I what I Aspire to be. I am the voice that stands consciously--deliberately--between the two. I am my Analytical Self.

Wake Up. And Rage. Rage because there is never enough time. Rage not because you must die, but because you cannot be immortal. Eternal life holds greater disappointments than the singular death of consciousness.

The best we may hope for is a life of sincerity. Let us be seen for what we are and for what we mean to be and not be afraid anymore. May we no longer hide behind the artifice contrivances of rhetoric, but instead ride our Words like sea crests and finally let them bear the weight of us.

I wish you a lifetime of always saying what you believe, but never believing what you think.