The moonlight divulged the cryptic secrets of the cosmos in the chilling wind last night;
'' Drink thine bitter tasting struggle
Full of eyes seething with contempt
Drink thine faith, thy sacrament subtle
Full of joy; one righteous attempt ''
And then it spoke about composing the score of the heartbeat inside the the omnipresent viper we call the rhythm of the river time, and about puzzles we craft from lost fragments of knowledge.
Where one's only hope of solemn resolution is to become lost in the spiraling endeavors of love and sobbing to the melifluent melody of crestfallen words composed by crestfallen but broken gods.
'' If thine Will be toil, Rejoice!
Thy sloth of brethren be condemned;
They knoweth only pleasures choice.
They produceth only folly gemmed.
''Curse not the seed; curse not the fool.
A boat will fall apart Sea shook.
Talk long with God, on sapphire rule,
keep thine prayers inside thine book. ''
This irrational nonsense channeled its way through my core stimulating a rather profound question: how does one know if he or she is gaining wisdom?
The abrupt moment of profound introspection aroused the deepest depths of my philosophical soul. So I decided to ask my lovely and enchanting nightly companion,
and of course, my answer was bestowed in a set of rhyming stanzas completely dipped in esoteric meaning, but carrying a warm glow that transmuted a serenading cacophony of silence from the lonely winter's after - midnight chill:
" Thou creatures counteth all the stars
And set claim a constellation sea
If one is learned and wisdom marred
Then one will hope that wrong we be! ''
I was beginning to become overcome with the reactional emotions of how much that didn't make any sense and suddenly the night sky started melting and dripping splatters of liquid rubies all over my black polo shirt. There were worlds containined in them; every single one of them.
They were each and every one of them, beautiful and unique displays of pure heavenly masterpieces, and I fell into one of them. I fell with the motion of abstract weightlessness, slowly; the character of an owl playing inquisitor somewhere in the distance echoing endlessly in my infancy- aged cranium.
''Names serve no purpose for those that fear the dragon.''
Did I think that? Or did I only experience the thought. That's not something I would think, at least I don't think...
An epiphany struck me mid fall and I realized, much to my amazement that what had caused my tumble into the sky was that I blamed its existence. The sky begged to differ and decided to illuminate the shadowy parts of my lesser intellectual being. I leaned to the right angle and the sky had returned to its rightful home...
I heard my voice speak a thousand miles away:
'' the Obscurity of truth,
Is the attainment of wisdom... ''
©hobbez
H