Towers of the Heart and Mind

    The world spins so fast, and yet I find myself standing always in the same place. Observing the rash and hectic motion from a state of isolation, and pondering…always pondering…the method behind the multitudes of madness. The rush of souls before my eyes portrays a dim and misted scene where each person, captured within their own mired Mind, stares at the ground before them as they barrel headlong into their futures. Such is the meaning of our twisted and mangled semblance of life; a crude and dismal farce of the grand creature we can become.

    My own Mind, mired as it is, struggles to grasp the subtleties of these clouds of thought and shadow; a task far beyond the ken of my own mortal coil. And yet, I continue in my attempts, and, through failure, I learn. But the price of knowledge is truly steep, and, as I gather what information is to be gleaned, I find that my place of isolation grows.

    Isolation is a terrible woe to the wisps that pass before me. And yet, it is the birth-right of all mortal beings. To be trapped within the flesh, and offered only what sparse sensations are availed upon our meager meat, is both boon and bane to the living. Unprepared, the lonely solitude devours hope and cheer, eradicating the true demeanor that we, the living, are provided. Rather than glory in the brief moment in which we live, many draw themselves up and die within their corporeal casket. Grueling and lifeless, the fortress of their isolated Minds becomes a prison. But this too is a mirage, and one can find great revelry within the isolation imposed on our fragile frames. To stand stalwart amidst the crushing throngs of ego and emotion requires a sense of security in ones self. This is a trait of survival for such a social beast as we. But walls, once built, are difficult to dismantle, and, in our haste to guard ourselves, many forget to install a door.

    From my vantage, I scour the horizon for those who, rather than constructing hardened bulwarks to hide beneath, or invoking illusion and subterfuge to mislead, have erected towers from which to see all the broad earth beneath them and lift their faces to the wind as it shares the scent of the world around us. But towers built by the Heart and Mind are uncommon. It is far easier to hide beneath a berm of earth and wait for Ragnarok. And so, my questing often leads to grief. Don Quixote was never so dismayed.

    But still I search the distant misty mountains for the shining spires of those who seek to see. One fails only when one chooses to cease trying. Behind, I see the erect dwellings of those closest to me marking the land. Stony needles rising from the torn and tortured earth, I am soothed at their sight and know I am never, and always, alone. But still I look ahead. There are more hearths on which to sit and tell the tales of life and love and loneliness. I cannot dwell in the past. Neither can I race to the future. It is now that we are offered a glimpse of what it is to be. It is now that we draw breath. It is now that we are given the glowing gift of opening our Hearts to the vastness that is existence, and, while the nature of this state of being is scalding to the touch, and inevitably fatal, it is well worth the embrace.