Where are the Wind Mills?

There are times when the Moon sets and leaves us wondering what will become of those things we once held so dear. Will they still hold the same importance once the sun rises in the morning? Or, have they already set sail and we’ve ignored the flowing out of the tide.

This sort of thing doesn’t bring me despair but the emptiness it leaves behind breeds a sort of melancholy that leaves me wondering why I bother to latch onto things in the first place.

Yes, the Magic is gone. I’m a blind man faced with the nothingness that results from Mankind’s pursuit of the next best thing, regardless of the value of what’s sacrificed. In the end, I know I can’t face this Reality. It’s too sterile. It has too little promise. There is nothing in it but a pale reflection of wonder and an echo of a child’s laughter hidden in quite sobs of adulthood.

My coping mechanism is to tilt at windmills. I grasp at the little ‘What if?’s, hoping to stretch them over the open chasm of my heart. I suppose that I once sought humankind’s knowledge thinking that this was the greatest of all treasures. In my foolish longing I overlooked the wonder and the awe of the unknown, the unfathomable.

No… It’s not an either/or, this choice of Worlds, but that doesn’t mean the transitions are easy. The choices are not always mine. The concept of inalienable ‘Rights of Man’ are foolish if more than Man exists. This isn’t something they teach in the Ivory Towers.

The Gods are the greatest of Windmills but there are little swirls of Being here and there. I used to feel their presence with little endeavor, but their whisper is few and far in between. And, I miss them…

I suppose when one ceases to listen, whether out of fear or arrogance, the Other ceases to waist it’s breath. Now, I find myself holding mine, hoping that I’ll be given another chance to see things, beyond the pale of human understanding..

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