Contemplations in Emergence: innards

The minutes drift away. And then the hours. The mind lays dormant, heaving sighs of fained exhaustion. The world lies before it, yet it cowers in the corner of its own matter. The tangible mocks it, the metaphysical burns it, the existential laughs at it – as it lies in wait for the spark that can never come.
A broken bone will heal with time, a torn muscle will slowly crawl back to its place, the mind is fickle and too weak to recover, so in its decrepitation it will lie.
The hums of life awaken it at times, a ring, a knock, a chirp… but drowsily will it slip back into its doubtful place – content with its subsistence.
Bogged down by the truths it cannot escape, by its own perceptions of what those truths may be – by its fear of what may become truth.

The spirit burns and cannot sit still. It is alerted to potential life and drains itself of energy before it can be realized. Its so much easier for the spirit, for it dreams, and dreams are happy in their vacuous plane. There is no hard battle with the past, the spirit only sees ahead, it does not bother with books of history and the warnings and lessons contained therein. The spirit flies in rarefied air, the better for to soar, to glide unimpeded into the days that rarely come. It knows its immortality and is not afraid, it knows its omniscience and is content – when cast aside our shell it will, so only lighter will be its flight.

Poor soul, stuck atween the nether and the sky. How to reconcile the dust and the wind? The shadow and the light? It’s wise, the soul, slow moving for the burden of eternity which it carries, yet blind to the emptiness it sees afore it. Connected as it is with all that makes us, as it came and has shifted up to this moment to combine and become what we see and feel, it is useless in its impotent quest to explain what could be. Though it presides as best it can over the pulls of the mind and spirit, it too is not unbiased. It knows the truth we share, the existence of which we are made, and its agenda is all to clear: preserve the flux. Let not the parts inbreed, but shift and change and grow wiser for newly acquired experience.

And so the battle rages and we are left to spectate to our delight, unless of course we make the mistake of becoming aware…