Normals and Outliers

Endlessly we oscillate between ropes and gossamers, where lies the truth? In the highways paved for bumpkins or trails untrodden for pioneers? Ignorance floats plenty in the one who toes the spoor and likewise in the one who bushwhacks through cacti. But tell me you wouldn't walk a little deeper to get that shell, tell me you wouldn't jump through those roofs to get that kite, tell me you would trade the endless sea for the anchor. But why does one still long for home? Gravity? the weakest force with the last word. Water? the shapeless splash that levels all knolls. A friend told me once- round and round in circles we go, the truth lies in the center and knows. Elegant, poignant, but nothing more than another gossamer. Where is that center, in madness or triumph? In neither but in both is a genuine possibility? Love is all you need!! Will is all you need!!! Float around these kitsches like snowflakes on a December evening. May be the route to truth is not to straighten the frayed edges, not to walk along a line, not to idealize, not to rationalize, but simply to be, to stand content between contradictions, to be at the center of that circle. More gossamer. Enjoy your summer afternoons.