The heft of the everyday
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- . -
— by @d-pend —— . —
.
begins to weigh down heavily
decrepit hands: who seek relief
in any kind of levity.
Flakes of snow or dust or dried paint swirl in the cyclonic movement of aimless wanderers, blown by the wind to whatever destiny the divine wills. A wet finger by the discerning tells the direction of the breeze and one might adjust course based upon such 'arcane' means, which end up, however, being quite mundane in the end. Actually, when the glamor or mystique of anything is removed, it becomes quite plain.
It must be some failing of the egoic mind that finds such plainness distasteful; it speaks to the extent of our addiction to superficiality and delusions of grandeur. "It takes a special soul to complete the passage through the dark tunnel of the dark night, having traded illusions for disillusionment yet not ceasing until that disillusionment is also shed" says the spirit thinking themself special. Every thing is utterly normal, and being normal, integrated into a whole of sanity, is sacred based on its very mundanity.
Ironic, then, that one interpretation of sacredness is something set apart or special. Not only ironic — it is highly indicative of the lengths to which humans go to attempt to distance physical and conceptual entities from one another in an attempt to mentally manufacture a neat and tidily-boxed cosmos of rigidly defined parts.
words and photos by @d-pendcreated for HIVE on Feb. 9, 2020.
