January 31st 2010
Secretively, I've come across some thing's. . . hidden from view, long after I found them. Not that this is something - you would come across before. It's that when you find that thing, it's traced back to a heartening disquiet.
I can see many different thing's - which throughout the course of a day, hardly seem reasonable to have a real look into. I suppose it's a variation between extreme's. On the one end, there may seem to be what appears as though your entire existence depends. Although in reality, there is no use for the mention of it. That is a cause for polarity, or a case making it impossible to consider human condition, or quality of life as rare.
Some other thing's are haphazardly unaware of their true significance, such as those of a doctor, or a lawyer, a law maker, or a deal breaker, all of these are thinking synonymous with detail. With the same virtue of a detective is to Sherlock Holmes, as a space cadet is to NASA, these item's which relay message's of deliverance take great will, perhaps even power (less-than-scale) to achieve them. None of those thing's require that I know, requires a great deal of commitment, even before the knowledge, is applicable (acquired then certifiable).
However, while all these are thing's which point to a loss of word's, come's the reality of inopportune moment's, which may also contaminate my thinking.
I am not a doctor - nor ever will be - I will never be a lawyer - I will never board a space shuttle - I will never finger point. But there has to be something which I may have missed along the way. (Which this perhap's cannot willingly condone as my personal space being held against me.)
I believe to speak of this place, not so much a dream life is to a world of fantasy, but what I can attribute to myself similar to the air inhaled, then lungs, filled, to the relaxing muscles, a breath, then exhaled. I guess - I am thinking of meditation perhaps. In a world of my where action meet's it's ultimate fate, is that what knowledge of the after-life may preside itself?
I think, in my most desired state of mind, be it my non-choice for 'professional' occupation, I would resist to calculate as some form of miracle. In fact, I could equate this belief, as an also - reminder of - ultimate fate. (Some would call this divine intervention. . .) I digress to nothing in that context.
What I am willing to formulate, is my vision, of what or if rather, would I want such an ultimate fate to be. The answer is simple: I would want to be a boy, not a man, but return as a boy. It is this single undying wish, that so much gave emphasis to the nocturnal events before day breaks, that captivates my mind for measure.
It seems awfully rude awakening such an advanced idea, to make-believe, I've waited for this revelation of truth, to supersede all other commitment's within action, people provide toward career choice. Almost bizarre -would -be -the- word. (But, something in me, has told me - that this is not the case.)
Maybe - I've demoted myself to a defeatist attitude, whereas the true meaning of life can only be found if I accept defeat - if where - possible. What other choice do I have. Is this a form of final appeal, to divine intervention, I say not. Yet, as so much of the world passes by, without a thing to show for it, I am leading myself to believe, that perfect image of making myself into a man, as I grow oldest - my undying wish is to transform back into a boy. Not some simple-minded retort, of the kind lost in touch within reality. To be a boy, is in this thought, quite more powerful a metaphor to consider, for everything I have found after, before it was even discovered.
If this lacks example, I do not claim that I am fit to be a role model, I couldn't fake that much better. A role model who lacks the fortune of man, but fit's the description of a returning to the state of a boyhood dream - can in fact - equate to a revolutionary construct of conception. Some would dear say, an absurd formulated misconception of the truth; how dare he.
I would hardly dismiss this as the factoid of that which it surrender's to. Just being the boy, again. Only stranger than in fiction.
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