Smoke, and lenses. Tiny spirit, thick fog.

Posted on April 10, 2021

Smoke, and lenses. Tiny spirit, thick fog.

There is much that I, a tiny mud worm spirit, fail to understand.  I step softly through new portals of thought, humbly, respectfully, as one always seeking a teacher. Or on the look-out. For a better, more knowledgeable man. I love to probe new questions. Or old ones, in the light of new experience, or different perspective.
I am therefore always puzzled by the teeming legions. Who confidently kick doors open. With a resounding crash. Loudly, enter. With a flourish. Or is it a swagger? Intent to make their presence felt.
It seems they disapprove of silence. Acoustic, or spiritual. And feel instantly obliged to fill it. With their -magnificent- being.
And I? It seems? Often offend them.  For which I am sorry.
I can’t help it. It’s just not my way.

I see life as a (very) short trailer. For a movie, I hope one day to see.
I see myself as in a thick fog, with ropes and string, lying on the muddy ground, radiating away from me, like the spokes of a wheel.  And I, a dull fool, at the center. My little hub.
Unseen hands try and pull away my ropes and strings. I have to grab them quickly, or they will disappear, out of reach, into that thick fog.
Strange noises often echo around my small valley, too. Through the mist. Some very faint, and barely heard. Strands of music, old songs. Sudden shouting, even cursing. Soon gone.
I have heard the uniform marching of many. The sounds of gun fire. Sirens. Smoke, and tear gas, assailing my nostrils. At night, the eerie, strange-dancing, blue lights of approaching, heavily armed, force. Ominous. Malevolent. Hunting.

Through all this mess, this confusion, the paranoia, and the galloping Absurdity of Man?
I have often tried to adjust my lenses. Through which I peer. No, not those made of plastic, or glass. I mean those lenses each of us have.
In our minds.

It seems to me? (but what do I know)
That those ‘lenses’ need constant, thoughtful, honest exercise. Constant adjustment.
See close up, see far.
See maybe very far.
1.  From different points of view.  Other mud worms. How they might see the same event.
2.  From close up, in the palm of your hand. And beyond those mountains.
3.  From different time perspectives.

Through the window.

And sometimes, in the swirling fog, surrounded by rope and string, strange shouting, curses and exhortations? This mud worm wonders?
Did he fail, somewhere along the line?
Maybe his lenses have grown rigid, cloudy, opaque, unwilling to see.
The way?

They were meant to.

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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 16, 2021, 6:30 am

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