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There are moments when we break free and are thrust into new and unknown spaces. This is often terrifying. This is often electrifying, but it is always bewildering first. Bewildering for truly new experiences always are just that. And it is only afterwards that we attach feelings other than our own confusion in face of the mysteriously unknown.
But being human we seek quite fervently the escape from all things beyond our grasp and flee back into what came before. We flee for we must… for our flight to the old world is the only one we know. Whether we wish to or not we must return to it for we can not exist without it. Only in it can we breath and move. Only in it can we see. The new was but a glimpse of something beyond, a revelation never again to be fully known and held. And no matter how clearly it was laid present to us, no matter how desperately we cling to it… it is left now to only our memory. And just as we return to our old world of old ways, so too does this memory of the new come with us. And in returning that which was new is corrupted and made new no more. It is loss and who we were before loss with it. But it is in this return that their most crucial moment lay waiting. The moment when they decide the outcome of this mysterious event, whatever in actuality it may have truly been, and ask the crucial questions. They ask… Who am I? This they will ask. Who am I in light of this? This they will wonder. Some who found this whole experience beyond experience to terrifying will seek to slip back to who they were and the Being they once knew. They will seek to return to that which they found comfort in though in comfort they will never fully lay again. Others will defy such comforts and seek to return head long into attaining the new fully for themselves once more. Some will seek to find this in the walk of the ascetics. Some will seek it in the deep contemplations of the philosophers. But all will be only chasers after a dream never again to be had no matter how desperately they close their eyes to the world and their ears to its noise to go to sleep. But is there not yet another way? Is there not a middle way? A way between denying the new and rejecting the old? For those who in faith and hope and love seek such a path between the subsistence of being-in-a-world now broken and the nothingness of chasing a world not yet possible... there is one path. One path among the manifold. One path in many they must walk. One path. Their own. Where this path will lead them no one can know and how it will wind and curve they cannot fathom. They cannot fathom the road ahead, but by grace they must not walk it alone. Though their path may be singular there are a multitude of others walking their own path. Walking their own path and seeking congruent things. Singular is the path, but manifold are those who walk it. All seeking to transform that which was once seemingly stagnant and fixed. All seeking transition from static souls to moving agents. This is no easy way for this is the most difficult way one can seek to travel in this life of ours. There is no map and they who choose it will have no guide to aid them and no light to guide them. No guide. No light. None except that which is their own and those beloved who seek to uplift them. But for those who seek neither Being or Nothingness there is only one path manifold. The path of Revolutionary Love. The path of Becoming and Being More… -Thane Hounchell
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 Precious + oh so frightful Are the memories of a friend Precarious + oh so lovely Are the memories to which they attend Moments that have past And moved on down yonder stream Moments that would be lost If not for their memories For this they are so precious And lovely beyond compare And for this they too are frightful And precariously beyond our care For just as the stars that light the heavens So too are their memories beyond our reach We may gaze upon their shining But still the night's shadow it does creep For in the night lay darkness A darkness we wish we held alone And in the jewel of darkness So too has our friend made a home A home that holds different memories Memories all their own A home that keeps tales and sinful stories Histories never to be known And in home's dark hallways Things lay twisted And light forgets to shine As the candle light of love's first gleaming Gets lost among the cruel dreaming Of one too many unfriendly sighs |
AuthorThane Hounchell: Offensive around children, scared of cats. Archives
March 2018
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