The unexamined life…

Certainty is a Feeling Unquestioned

While dreaming, I rarely question the substance of reality though I so intend. Why don’t I inquisition life more severely than dreams?

A lovely essay, an anecdote on Dostoevsky, turned me darkly. Oh, there you are, my shadowy friend. How have I failed to see you? Are you me, or just those attributes I would rather not showcase, or believe I hold dearly. Are we friends or lovers? I would not want you as an enemy, as you are superior in many ways. You aren’t the skeleton in the closet, but I dare say you scaffold my heights. Do you or I put myself on the pedestal? Precariously placed, easily toppled, I fear looking through the mist because I know it is not the shoulder giants I stand on, but on the fellows in an asylum. How high before I topple the white wall?

Neither through or over the white wall, though I bob above and bang my head against it.

No one realizes the dangers of crowd surfing till the invisible hands begin to grope, or their weighted mass takes you into the abyss to be consumed in many ways, if lucky even beyond death. Some will say it’s an exercise in trust to jump from the lighted stage into the troubled masses, a sea of dark eyes and hungry mouths in lockstep. Perhaps…