Opere Et Viritate

One thing I loved about philosophy is contemplating the "concept of being." Not the whole "I think, therefore I am" ordeal, but things like experience; Do we really experience things through sensory and perception, or is it that we actually think we do? Or something along those lines. If that made no sense, which if you read my blog more than periodically, think of it this way. What if our physical bodies are just that; orifices to enable us to manifest a physical presence on this earth? We are bound to things such as gravity, fatigue, and going as far as fear, because we are physically bound to this earth and a fear of losing that tie limits us to things that are free, yet not so far as to free us from this body; and to ponder outside this realm. ???? I know. Think of it like this; A skydiver endulges in the act because of its sense of freedom, unbound to anything, to be able to flip and to frollick in that thing we know as the wild blue yonder. Then again, only to be snapped back into reality, in fear of losing his "life," or his physical being. Think of us as skydivers, all with the will to roam free. But we are tied to our fears, i.e. our parachutes, in order to remain "alive," or physically present in this world. It is human nature to be free, unbound by anything, naive to laws, theories and science, unawares of why this and why that. This goes back to the infamous Garden of Eden. Likewise, it has become that humans, just as they are curious, they are fearful of what dwells beyond such curiousity. HowI yearn to leap from that roof, to take flight; but "knowing" of its dreadful outcome, to fear gravity, to lose that physical tie to this real world. WHY? We all know that 100 times out of 100, If I jump, I will fall. But nevertheless, I still want to. Likewise, how do we know what will happen? No one can see the future, thus no one knows the outcome. And even more so, you would want to jump just as I would. How do I know? because it is our nature. To be free of all inhibitions for just that moment, to do potentially exponential amounts of frontflips and backflips, etc; that is, until we come back to what keeps us from doing so, hitting the ground and "dying." Death? What if it is the becoming of actual life? Freedom from pain, sorrow, and the things we can feel in this physical realm? Noty bound to a body, in which wants to jump, but can't. That, my friend, I guess is what we all ponder. We fear the "end," but alas, is it really so? We do not know, and what we do not know, we as humans fear. and "DEATH," being a loathsome and sick creature, sits atop the fence between this life and the next; He knows of the other side. He beckons some, breathing lies of things better in the beyond. But indeed,

are they lies?

Henceforth, shall I jump? Nay, we know what our fates will be, persay....

"In action, and in truth"

Is how we all shall fly away.

Tentanda Via

I haven't written in awhile, I always tend not to write when I am enjoying life, sad to say. Though life could be better, I am writing today because honestly I miss it, and want this area in my life to be more apparent. My writing to me is so many things; in ways it is me. It is the portal into the desires of my heart, yet the cherubim that gaurds it. It is the shield that wards away the demons, but also the sword that vanquishes my foes. That being said, with writing being so many things to me, my life seems to cycle around because all these things are not apparent. My heart becomes cold and hard because I do not channel my desires, and with a cold heart I beckon demons, both new and old; in which without writing, I would have no shield to ward them off. With my enemies surrounding me, and my weapon not even drawn, it is not a wonder that I am wounded by that which knows my qualms so well. The battle may not be lost, but to fight without my weapon is to fight long and hard; and to develop many scars along the way. Would I have been vigilant, I could have saved face, in a lot of cases.
But should I remain on the offensive? Should I express myself through writing, only to have it viewed as venting and whining by some, thus it not being heard. One of my fears is to speak and not to be heard. To not have a voice, to feel helpless. I am stuck it feels with two options, to do the former, and to develop these scars; or to talk and to talk and to talk, thus be seen as the one who cries wolf. And just as the story goes, I will be unheard when it shall matter the most. The former has been tried, and been found wanting. Thus shall we try the latter?

"Tentanda Via"

"The way must be tried"
as I know no other.