like staring at stars we seek to find familiar patterns of understanding for the amorphous hate residing in the heart of this nation we conjure up through our incantations of the sacred words we the people the mythical spirits of freedom and morality only to hear the despairing echo of our own voices voices resonating in the emptiness of each day yet we continue our self-hypnotic chants as if the very words can charge the chaotic into a form we can understand and thus change but like the centuries of incurable believers before us our invocations are all for naught
with stones of doubt stuffed into a backpack the journey begins emotions on uneven footing at first there’s a willingness to step over shattered expectations then comes compromising on the path to be taken traveling in darkness instead of the light small clearings from chaos give a false sense of hope but soon brambles of hate and injustice narrow the aimless course days become nights nights become sadness sadness becomes an eternity
now i certainly appreciate all the heartfelt words-to-the-wise we’ve been having about the benefits of daily contemplation learning to deliberate on the moment and not project into the future or woller in yesterday’s mud but when you’re just trying to survive the day then pausing to smell the roses ain’t an option nor is there any respite to look towards tomorrow tomorrow isn’t a consideration and when you don’t look to tomorrow hope becomes a useless vocabulary word
