Midnight

(Nov 2013)

It is the dread of unraveling the mysterious that demands caution, and the hazy sense of amorous fever that should be guarded from touching the material, from falling on earth. For whatever senselessness the world contains and however purposeless its affairs might appear to be, there remains nonetheless a perpetual and tranquilizing mist that makes the tone of any rhythm the earth plays as wonderful.

When the desire that commands both pleasure and destruction prevails and the curtain is brought down, it is akin to the show coming to an end, everything divine turns into flesh and bone, naked. Cruel an invader is lust, conqueror of the privacy with which mind has clung on to, the weary and ever marauding rapscallion which destroys any delusions that might allow for anything other than material pleasure.

Whoever believes in the faith of deep fondness, an enchanted surrender, called with four simple letters, love, is aware how thoroughly it transcends the bounds with which reason tries to explain “existence”. Although one is under the everlasting might and compulsions of temptation, and feels its authority at each step, only those who stand in the face of it are the ones who transcend material existence, they are the ones who join a higher state of being, if it can indeed be considered as higher, without which there does not remain much in the way of motives to provide the warmth of reasoned living. Nothing on earth bears any meaning that can perhaps justify an instant of living, nothing stands its firm ground, without wavering and trembling, when confronted with a momentary deliberation of an audacious mind that questions the mundane.

One who is devoid of reason, is devoid of the courage. But reason alone is not an adequate device, it only opens the beginning of an adventurous path ridden with dangers, it is the purveyor of the tools and implements, the storage and warehouse of pure intellect. Notwithstanding the heavy burden of shackles that binds and grinds curiosity, with the formalities of conventions, for which reason is necessary to withstand and contain, the void that prevails the mind of any rudimentary intellectual capacity and its quest for purpose can only be filled with a higher order of qualities, which assuages the devastating futility of life, even if it be for an ephemeral moment.

In our times, God has forsaken its territory for love, and whatever the means it can be practiced with is secondary, or even a threat toward its unearthly and unadulterated nature. Even then, the mere presence of an agent, unveiling itself in an instant or in a matter of years, its role intelligible only by a few, some human and others symbolic, is the necessary step without which the idolization is an empty attempt, a flight from heights with no wings of adulation to fly with.

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