by SEG

Created on: August 25, 2010

 Reality is Experience.

And with a hundred people come a hundred Realities experienced in solitude, an inner self. How many times do we try to express it and fail, awkward with words and meanings? Life is streaming complexity that's difficult to comprehend let alone express; and the farther we reach out into it the farther it streams away.

Will I understand this World by attempting to explore another one beyond my touch? Another Reality, not this World that is so familiar, but a Transcendent place, a better place. How easy it would be to render senseless with words another Reality after honing that art in this one.

Which way to go?

The intellectual reach of Philosophy has traditionally provided direction; and we can do well venturing along those highways called 'Schools of Thought'. But alas, over-feeding upon the exponential growths of scientific precision, Philosophical Systems' have collapsed to the ground in ponderous immobility; those highways now lead nowhere: man's creation of the World around has left behind the World of creation within.

Philosophy's once closed Sphere of Positional Reality has exploded with the Matrix of twenty-first century Space-time: dimensional exclusion within dimensional profusion; our thoughts radiate but are left with mere vapors of experience upon which our feet dance in megahertz pace to laser-speed awareness.

Alone in Reality, we are left to be led or to find.

It is not my intention to be led through life, funneled through someone's aqueduct of vision, beautiful though it may appear at first, or convenient as it might be set before me.

Life isn't convenient; Life is a vigorous current that sweeps us along without our consent, leaving us only the choice of what heights we'll ascend to or depths into which we'll plummet; but never 'if' we will or when.

At our inconvenience, Life hurls choices to us daily and thoughtless decisions are thoughtless living without a thought of it. 

But reflection leads us through yesterday's living today into a novel tomorrow, but our visions need solid ground to stand on, a place to put our feet today.

Our native fields are still around us; we just lose sight of them sometimes, but they're not hard to find again.

I stand above them on a cloud darkened cliff, the tumultuous ocean heaves its power up in rhythms roiling relentlessly forward; it thunders into the rocks below and a burst of water sprays above me; a cacophony of wind born howling from the trees whips it into my face amidst

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