Through the Fabric of Time

6361796709723034612039581096_time-7Time – in some instances referred to as the fourth dimension – but whatever our understanding of its concept, luxury seems an invariably, non-existent trait.  Unyielding hands on the clock counting seconds; minutes falling in line as the hours turn into days and weeks – years. A blueprint of past occurrences etched in stone; where dwelling in regrets or offering up heartfelt apologies still cannot alter the path we have walked – future interests that promise no guarantee; no donation or sacrifice can brandish an extended life warrantee. Breathe in this moment; capture its essence; catch sight of its elegance accented over a distinctly dismal backdrop – perhaps through the haze, it heroically outshines the viciously mundane.  Time is as simplistic or complex as we choose to make it; boiled down into a series of present moments that either amplify merit or deduct from its worth.  Constant business in the realm of the spirit can prove to be enormously depleting; an implication of encompassing stillness can effectively replenish a withering morale – resulting from the chaos is a distinctly unique art from a time-weathered heart; the mission is to find ourselves ultimately settling into that ostensibly unattainable, yet perpetually sought-after balance. 

But where does passion end and obsession begin? I sense an overwhelming correlation – where we find passion, obsession lurks and when push comes to shove, time will be spent. I passionately write about the tribulations I have endured; I can only write about what I know and I can only share my perspective on topics which have gravely affected my life. Over time, perceptions can change even though the factual events or situations in and of themselves do not – it’s simply my reality and whether I was in or out of touch with said reality at the time does not alter the experience. But these words that spill out over the page render me madly obsessed – addicted to the perfect stream; infatuated by the romance of choosing optimal words; perfection in their phrasing – love for the prose; a puzzle’s inception intricately interwoven amidst a sea of black and white anarchy; ideas that collide causing a subsequent consummation; carried to term and birthed from a mind interminably maneuvering misconnections. I grow consumed by their rhythm; possessed by the beat, tormented by rhymes ‘til my riddle’s complete. I reach deep within, for in crafting my words, an alliteration alternation authoritatively forms.

time-machine-5Do you feel what I feel when my words breach your eyes? Do you see what I see? Does my pain seep inside? I seek satisfaction in the emotional punch, when it splinters your soul and seeps deep in your guts. It’s merely meant for no more than a clarification; to spare the experiential eternal damnation.  So, the choice of my words with their cadence and tone, provide voice for the ones who feel most alone; transcribed for the ones who go on reprimanding; displayed for an ignorant world’s understanding – and after my words have pummeled your soul, I know that my story was rightfully told. But don’t be misled, because ingrained in the madness, is a message of hope rising out of this sadness – no, don’t be confused by this story of mine. I’d tell you much more, but I’ve run out of time.

So, can we conquer without sacrifice? Can we truly gain mastery of our craft without the derangement of fixation? Is greatness always achieved at a price? I find inspiration in tale after tale of prominence throughout history, but the underlying facts of achievement are almost always formed from the mayhem of obsession – no backup plans, no fail-safes in place – it’s that all eggs in one basket approach; an all-encompassing do-or-die mentality fueling the spirit to accomplish what no other has before – something original; an exclusive imprint on the fabric of existence; something brave – sacrificing what few others were willing to sacrifice; pleading for that sacrifice to make a difference in the greater good. Obsession can absolutely live without ultimately attaining greatness, but can we ever achieve greatness without entering into the ugly world of obsession?  

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