I Need To Make Morpheus My BitchSubmitted by DaBeast at 2014-03-13 01:18:29 EDT
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I like to compare new philosophy students to toddlers on the verge of a first step.
Some will run right away from you and *zoom!* they're in the kitchen and you're listening to the sounds of gleeful breakage. Now's a good time to lock up all the shiny or toxic objects and put some guards on the outlets because that little hellion will stick a fork in it at the very first opportunity, I guarantee. They're curious in the way of bees and they swarm all over the place, putting their hands into every little thing. You don't watch 'em close, they will cut or burn themselves but you give 'em a little leeway, too, because if there's a lesson in it, then a little harm can be tolerated. Let 'em stub their toes a few times and they'll stop running into the coffee table, that kinda thing. Something that no one will warn you about (by the way, consider this my public service for the week) but that you can only appreciate once you've tasted it. Yes, you want to protect them but you recall, in a little bit of a horrified haze, that time when you did something stupid that you had been warned not to do and you decided to toss sense out the window and do it, anyway. Somewhere, nearby, there was likely an adult that actually, on some level, allowed that to happen. They could have stopped it but, if they did, how would you actually learn? Experience is a grim teacher but I like her. She gives as good as she gets.
Others, though, will stand there. They sway slightly and they rock from heel to toe. Some of them scrunch their toes into the carpet (only in select locations) and giggle and drool a little and you see the wheels turning behind their bright, beautiful eyes and something in your chest swells up and the awe... Here is a tiny portion of history that may only ever truly be important to you and you watch and you feel so many things but they burst inside you, almost painfully, when that one tiny foot rises, toes wriggling in the air, and it moves to one side and they plant themselves more firmly. There is a fire in their eyes as they survey their surroundings from this newfound perspective and it is warm and full and right.
It is where they start and it defines who they are at a very basic level. They will bring to the table any slight wisdoms that experience and life have taught to them. From there, it is a wayward journey. They are on a quest for the answer to the great question, "Why?" and they will find many different teachers and lessons. Some will make no sense and will be discarded. Others will be considered; still, a few will actually initiate thought and conversation and debate. You will gravitate towards that which makes the most sense to you, at least on some level and you'll roll around with it like a toddler with a new ball. There has to be at least a little bit of fun in the pursuit of answers or it really isn't worth doing. All work and no play makes me mad as hell. I get cranky, a child in need of a nap. Just because I recognize it does not mean that I can change it very easily. I'm working on it.
Sadly, there is a little too much coddling in our current state for my taste. What I learned came from pain and sorrow and deep, dark places. If I'd been stupid, it would have killed me. It tried often enough. I'm an ornery sort. At some point, it turned into some sort of contest, at least in my head. I lived in a state of anticipation, awaiting the thud of another shoe, or I lived in denial (it's a beautiful river, which, I'm sure you know), but there were a few moments when I lived in a state of grace and I felt invincible and implacable and outraged. When I struck back, it was always a verbal thrust into an emotional and mental weak point. I wanted them angry, I wanted them to drink from the cup brimming with all of my ire, and I wanted them to appreciate the bouquet, the richness with its subtle hint of almonds. I could never get angry enough to throw a physical blow unless they brought it to that level first. I couldn't be the physical aggressor so I was the mental one. And, looking back on it, I see what a bully I became (honestly, I still am). It was a savage thing that burned inside my brain and when the crimson stained my vision, I was, in my fashion, quick to strike. I look back on it and I see it for what it is and it's sad and sickening. My first steps were into darkness and my shadow looms quite large and full and horned, there on the wall. I can be such a petty little tyrant. A viper coiled to strike kind of thing.
It was luck that I stumbled upon a soul with... complementary lunacies. They have seen me argue with the walls and sat there laughing at it. They listen to the ranting and they are, somehow, charmed and dazzled by my anger. Their eyes dance a gleeful jig and the light inside those coffee stained orbs is bright and hard and right. I have done dazzlingly stupid things but, then, so have they. We have erred and danced around each other, a weird double helix, but like the snake around the staff, at the end we are entertwined. Perhaps, a better analogy would be "in orbit". Hell knows we're both spacey enough. I will flirt with anything that moves and they do the same but we never stray far from our chosen orbit. I fear a day when they are no more because then I will talk to the walls all alone. This is my shot and I will make the most of it while I have it because once it's gone, I will dissolve. Remember the WWotW? "I'll get you, my pretties and your little dog, too!" Yeah, that was a mental stab. I hate you so much, I will kill your dog. I think Ms. Hamilton was enduring some serious PMS at that moment. Remember the face? Yeah, that was some hate going on up in there. I wonder if that's how I'll end or if I'll still be searching when I breathe my last.
Sorry. I am a bit morbid tonight. A curious mood. The voices in my head sing a mournful dirge and I wonder why I'm still awake. I haven't really slept in days. There is an... itch inside my mind.
Perhaps, I'll to bed, now. The morning comes swiftly and leaches the time when I could be wrapped around my favorite dingbat. The back will be warm and the skin will have a fine mist of sweat and the smell will make me think of home. Perhaps...
I can't get The Argument out of my head. So, I'll give it to you. I don't know why it's in my head but I need to expunge it if I am to sleep at all, so here it is. Make of the first steps what you would.
"You won't breed the darkness out of them no matter when you start. It's part of them."
"It is when you're a mind capable of conceiving eternity trapped inside a body that dies. I didn't sleep through all the lectures, you know."
"Yes, yes." Barion waved the objections aside with his usual know-it-all gesture. "Religion, dualism. Predictable stages."
"Not stages, you idiot! Propensities!"
~Coyul & Barion from "Waiting for the Galactic Bus" by Parke Godwin