A little experiment

People remind me never to be afraid, though I’m not sure if it’s only because they don’t understand.

There is much to be admired in the brave, but do they grasp truly the idea of fear?

Do all men experience equal depth in feeling; are we all the same in this regard? Because if we are not, then courage, patience and love, some achieve at greater cost than others. Pity, for the world we know cares only for what can be seen.

So I ask: what are values if they seem meaningless? The admiration and respect drives good acts, drives the social heroes, our quiet morals be already flung out the window.

Yet, are we selfish when the end of our tunnels sees good done unto this earth? Would you proclaim I to be selfish if I worked hard for opportunity for my own self, so that I could service the community? It seems there isn’t an easy answer.

And what is it truly that I’m trying to say? Perhaps you’ve a better idea than I do myself.

You see, what I say doesn’t matter, not even to my own person, but it is hoped for that through writing I somehow spark inspiration to write about something bigger. And have I achieved that? I’m working on it.

Literature is a funny thing, it gives us a power as long as we earn it, and that we do through reading -the very act already worship of such an art. Who isn’t a writer, who isn’t an artist in one way or another? Recently I lost my art (physically). Lost the entire file of pieces I’d done over the past year, but I suppose it’s a sweet opportunity to ascertain the ‘truthfulness’ of it -perhaps what isn’t me I will have shed. All I’m saying is, we’re all artists; the quality of our art isn’t propositional at all.

And this here is a tiny example of the power of streams of consciousness. I’ll explore this with a little more subtlety in a future post.