Transcending through self
A question is only a mirror of the questions that the answers bring. Our of fear and complacency we will argue not, for the sake of the rest between the two states, fear of the unknown questions that all answers bring.
Outside; at the place of the pictures where I grew up, smoking the death of addiction. The light of small town glows on the bottom layers of the clouds, strange feeling permeates the night, the unknown again knocks at my soul, this time the depth and gravity outweigh all before, and will after. I utter sayings in my ear of the wisdom of ago, hoping that I will listen, but more out of desperation. I will not. I can not, out of desperation. That would be disrespectful of such a small soul, as we all are in reality. I come back inside, empty of what I originally wanted to say, it evaporating from the mind only to be filled with another something.
When did we all forget, forget the knowledge of childhood, and the ways of true innocence? Have we really forgotten, or has vanity taken hold in the many? What are we? What is 'really' known? Or were we at childhood more grounded in wisdom of truth than the beleaguered adults we have become? But how is this so when children are so ignorant of the 'real' reality? Do we then gain true wisdom and truth from ignorance? How can the truth be compatible with ignorance; which is not knowing something that is true? Is it true then that truth has no part that is ignorant? If that where true, then truth being ignorance would signify truth as being false, which leads one back to the beginning of 'what is truth'. What of children learning everything from adults? That means that everything we know came from what we are now ' adults', and I am more uncertain of what truth is than ever before in my life, and there have been many older adults whom seem to feel as well that the more one ages, the more uncertain everything becomes. And this is what children really learn, a continuing cycle of questions leading to answers that eventually lead back to questions. There is to much abstractness right now, even for me, I need to clearly see more, before my mouth bubbles forth.
Outside; at the place of the pictures where I grew up, smoking the death of addiction. The light of small town glows on the bottom layers of the clouds, strange feeling permeates the night, the unknown again knocks at my soul, this time the depth and gravity outweigh all before, and will after. I utter sayings in my ear of the wisdom of ago, hoping that I will listen, but more out of desperation. I will not. I can not, out of desperation. That would be disrespectful of such a small soul, as we all are in reality. I come back inside, empty of what I originally wanted to say, it evaporating from the mind only to be filled with another something.
When did we all forget, forget the knowledge of childhood, and the ways of true innocence? Have we really forgotten, or has vanity taken hold in the many? What are we? What is 'really' known? Or were we at childhood more grounded in wisdom of truth than the beleaguered adults we have become? But how is this so when children are so ignorant of the 'real' reality? Do we then gain true wisdom and truth from ignorance? How can the truth be compatible with ignorance; which is not knowing something that is true? Is it true then that truth has no part that is ignorant? If that where true, then truth being ignorance would signify truth as being false, which leads one back to the beginning of 'what is truth'. What of children learning everything from adults? That means that everything we know came from what we are now ' adults', and I am more uncertain of what truth is than ever before in my life, and there have been many older adults whom seem to feel as well that the more one ages, the more uncertain everything becomes. And this is what children really learn, a continuing cycle of questions leading to answers that eventually lead back to questions. There is to much abstractness right now, even for me, I need to clearly see more, before my mouth bubbles forth.
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