AT THE STOA

How do I even begin to explain? Well, that’s how, perhaps, with a question, and a self-aware explanation. The problem – our problem – is self-awareness.  Neither of us have middle gears for it.  At times we do what we do with the deliberation of a scalpel that suddenly became conscious and wants to be friendly. At times we are idiots. Idiots who see reason too late, which is the cruelest time to be self-aware. No times in between –                 No kindness, no forgiveness, no respect, nothing. Perhaps that is our real problem –                 Not self-awareness, But in seeing that, when it comes to the most real things, The things that should matter the most, The things that could save us the most, We both have, And are, In each other, Nothing.

The way throughout the labyrinth is hard.  The way back was harder, and more intricate, more beautiful – so beautiful, in fact, that it would be an altogether more rational thing to no longer leave.  I felt I have been to Wonderland, and it seems that I was born here, or that I have come back after years and years of searching for it without knowing I was doing so.  To lose yourself in such a place!  It would not be losing yourself, it would be like finding where you really have been all along.                      It would feel like the rabbit hole is the true way home, and the Red Queen’s castle a pleasant backyard haunt.  It would feel like the White Rabbit and the Mad Hatter are your childhood allies, exploring with you one wonder after another in your limitless neighborhood.  It would feel like you are Alice, and the choice to wake up or not no longer existed.  It would be that in sleep is the true world, and that every weird and marvelous thing is the way things are suppose