“Not all things worth doing make rich men,
But all things worth doing make men rich.” – IV
I’ve allowed complacency to sink in. I won’t pretend I did not see it coming. I was not immune to the great sickness that has plagued us. Resistant, Yes. The ugly truth though is that my resistance only served to magnify the eventual depths to which I fell ill. As I walked around infected it began to seep into my well; deeper and deeper. Drinking of the poisonous milk as it slowly grew more potent hid the corrosion from my observations. The rooms grew darker, the lights fainter, and all along I thought I was still glimpsing the sun.
Early on I could feel the dichotomy that existed within me rage and erupt like the surface of our Sun – Much like the tumultuous currents that roared beneath, I knew no peace. It wasn’t that I was intentionally destroying what I had created, no, I needed more observation of the two interacting and giving way in order to captain with the ideal philosophy. If it took me a bit of time to be certain in my heading, then so be the course.
Have you ever put out a fire with nothing but the air in your lungs?
You have to hold a long time, ignoring all the signals, against all those inhibitions.
Many rights and wrongs occurred before I grasped the philosophy of life I felt beating between my flesh and spirit. Too great an ascendancy of either meant a tearing pain, since the two could never really be severed as long as I lived; And since I endured to live while I was present, I scored greatest in balancing the dimensionless with the physical. In the moment, they meet cheek to cheek; yet as often as one is permitted to gallop, so is the other. In short, I have small regard for the absolute rock or for the absolute feather because neither have stretched out a hand to other out fear of what they might become.
If you’re scared to be hard, then you will only bring suffering, if you are scared to be soft, you will only break
And I hope you understand that when we talk about nights it isn’t just the time of day that takes place when the sun isn’t out. It’s a much darker place than the evening you spend reading and writing books with a little smoke in your lungs. It’s the kind of lightless you lose things in, things you tied to your fingers. You’re going to need your fingers to feel around when you get here.
We are the ones we are waiting for