What way, this wicked Weird I speak to? What thing is thought, when my Weird is given to talk?
This world is full of varied things, of dark and light, tis given the world to fondle, and watch the bright. Shadows crawl upon the most innocuous of things, and silence is a brief twinkle in the eye of a sickly string. There are more things upon Earth, Heaven, or Hell, or by whatever other name Humans are inclined to tell. There crawls, there flies, there swims so many different things to which name has not been put, that the end of all things someday, will be named merely by its glut.
We are a species dedicated to many different ideals; we see this world in many different lights, through eyes shaped by various circumstances. To our own senses, we name these things, these experiences by the devices, the instruments, the truths to which we are taught. It is never enough, merely to name a thing, and forget its name, as if it were naught.
The conflicts we bare, both past fought and yet to be contended, are as diverse as the stars that are scattered throughout the Universe. We are merely specks upon this backdrop of Life, and in all of our times, we scuttle with strife.
There are many lessons to be learned in our journeys through the day to day, generation to generation. Sometimes we see the teaching, sometimes we are but butterflies going from flower to flower, with nary a thought to be seen.
My greatest hope, is that one day, as a species, our eyes will be open enough, to see that not only the mud can hold our attention long enough to build something from, but so, too, can our spirits soar greater than our abilities to see where they land. The stars in the sky are not just a place to go to, but they are a stepping stone by which we can gather courage to go … farther than merely the limit of imagination.
Go forth, birth thoughts that burst past the box, the humdrum mediocrity of living, and be, alive!