Out damn spot out!
It is said that all writers, poets and philosophists have at least a tiny streak of melancholy in them. Is that true? Does melancholy drives wordsmiths to their peaks? Or to the Valley of Death beneath? The gloom it gives, is it a muse, or rather a wolf in sheep's clothing, a Siren in disguise, luring them to slaughter?
I admit it, yes I am one who gives much to Thought. Perhaps too much Thought that it becomes self-destructive, like a tiny little maggot eating at the heart of my heart, slowly worming its way out. That little maggot might just reproduce and eventually consume me relentlessly. We'll never know for sure until the maggots are out, won't we? Thought leads to Self-Doubt, and this can kill or maketh a man. To prevent such a needless fatality, the heart would perhaps have to be armoured against such. Never ever let Self-Doubt worm its way it. For once in, then Adam would have consumed the apple under Eve's naviety and bedamned are we all to the bowels of Hell.
Be gone maggots! I will not have ye here!
Out damn it out!
Your servant
Aristocrat
Ave Maria :13:41
2 comments
2 Comments:
Thought unguarded raises Cain. It ricochets around like a wild broncos, stumping on fields of dreams and visions. Sowing unbelief and confusion in the heart.
However, Thought being tamed edifies. It empowers its master in ploughing his field. It builds and not tear. The master always stays in control not the other way round. A sound mind
The heart being weak to emotions indeed has to be armoured. With what you might ask. A shiny armour made of Will, a strong decision to stand in the sweeping wind, a straight stick that leads the twining Thought of vines up in the right direction.
Maggots, who are they to survive now, without the fruit of unwatchfulness sprounting in your garden?
Interesting repartee there. Thought, when tamed, empowers the master you say. Perhaps my thoughts are more of a constant reminder to the fallacies of the world, that no one is perfect. And the hurdle of expectations shouldn't be set too high lest people cannot cross over.
Armour. A shell. That, I am not lacking. Thank heavens for that.
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