6.17.00

Another one of those times when too much of the honest part was pillaged by another, leaving feelings of fatigue and mild disgust. This weekend I've thought much about this, contemplated the resulting disgust, what it really means, what is really at the source - and why there is so little compassion. What I know is that even if one achieves that fragile state of gentleness and acceptance with a present self, that gentleness is all the more vulnerable to the criticism of outer voices for lack of the usual defenses. It's a mad scramble from birth to survival in a hostile medium. But it is possible to reach a point where voices of criticism are nothing more than the hum of the refrigerator in another room. The crucial factor is time: is the waiting for sufficient growth to increase the likelihood of survival. Time, if it bends, will not bend with favor. But in its constancy, I can make my heart beat faster or slower within a given interval just by calculated breathing, which means that the waiting does not have to be all waiting. Whatever the action, it isn't intellectual however: Intellect is where the criticism is born, held, and wielded to deteriorate its bearer. (More power to it.) At this moment I've no patience for people wielding canned reason or blind reaches, and so I've made some decisions: It's time for a market correction. That being said, in other circumstances peacefulness encroaches and stays on a little longer, even among black-hole personalities. The empiricist asks, So then, under what circumstance is the door left open and the interior vulnerable for the taking? The answer is: In that moment when the light has been turned out and the eyes haven't adjusted to the darkness.

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