. elsewhere . . letters from the inaccessible .


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11 February 2001


longevity.

What fears abound! Perhaps the answer to this lies somewhere in my past. I wonder how I got it into my mind that one can lose heaven, but not hell? My persistent fear is committing the unpardonable sin. Thus, I walk on egg-shells, because for some reason I feel like it could all come crashing down over my ears at any time. Dread of it all going inextricably wrong, without ever knowing why. Or worse, knowing too well. So please be patient with me as I make these mistakes, because I will, and when I do, I'll be afraid that I've ruined everything.

morphology.

My mind is reeling. I am intensely focused and completely addled at once. I have always favored observation over experience. My method of learning has been more through others' mistakes rather than my own. Now, with a little help, I'm beginning to see the downside of this, and beginning to wonder whether the default mode has been caution or fear. Where discretion is the better part of valor, and fear is the better part of discretion, have I valiantly gone on, not actually living?

There is no substitution for the immediacy of presence, unrestrained visceral emotion. I work in words; have I dissected (and killed) what I longed to experience? In physics, as in many other disciplines, observation is an act of violence and explanation renders the deeper truths almost meaningless. Yet here I am, toiling in the idiom of my facility, and making no headway. There is no substitution for the face-to-face. I mislead you here.

I want to share a silence with you that lasts hours. I want to communicate without language, of any kind.

incept dates.

nowhere near the best part.

The signs aren't inscribed with words I recognize. Knowing where to go has always been simple enough, but in a land I rarely visit, I never can remember how to get there.... Sometimes I stumbled upon the right way, other times, I was led. I always seek the temple. A place to worship, perhaps. A place to connect with the mystery, certainly. A place to know and be known.

A dozen paths lie before me with a dozen destinations. But how can I see the next step before me when my eyes and my mind are a thousand miles away?

musings of señor prod.

Not much rest for the weary at The Revolution. And not much solace for the fearful. What price glory?

 

©2001 Timothy A. Clark -|-