December 26, 2012, John Æonid
The expanse of the lake settles among the resting mountains, filling voids where long, long ago the mountains heaved apart. Wind brushes the water's surface; ripples chase beneath the breeze. Below, currents the size of titans gently flow—unseen by those dwelling above.
Dip your hand in; cup a bit of water. You touch the titan easing past. Yet the water slips between your fingers—leaving no sense of the massive titan moving within.
You can never grasp a thing so massive. The idea will always slip past like water through your fingers. How can water ever become so clear that you would come to know these titans? What would it mean for the mind to know water in this way? And if the mind could become like a lake of water, what titans would dwell within? And, how would you know them—these titans beneath the rippling surface of your liquid black subconscious?
Yet, the mountains rise up from the shores of the lake, like fingers of the titans—stretching to touch the sky. A lone seeker of lost sacred paths climbs to the top—hoping to glimpse in one brief speck of time the spirit that exhales the clouds—the spirit the titans strain to touch. Yet, the spirit of the air dwells within the atmosphere—that is just a thin film on the surface of the Earth, more massive than all combined. Yet, this massive planet of ancient stone is just a young speck drifting in the void of the Galaxy, also a drifting speck within the Universe that envelopes it.
We who cannot see the titans of the lake, the spirit of the air, the entire expanse of the Universe, or the future of a life we feel must go on forever—all for an inkling of a thought, one that hopes we may one day know all, the titan, the Spirit, the Universe.
Mind of Water, Mind of Stone,
Mind of Fire, Mind of Air,
All Become Void.
The Titan Sighs.