ON BEING … DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND

Art’s cybernetic letters found blind eyes, deaf ears and distracted, preoccupied,
and flaccid minds; a grand plan, by wan indifference,
vanquished. A dream crushed may nonetheless, develop and envelop; events symbolize
nature’s mix, of timing … and ambience.

Cycles are the cornerstones of the universe. The ebb and flow between balance and
imbalance are the cornerstones of civilizations.
The new toolbox that too few now own shan’t realize its potential unless and
until, all share … in its utilization.

If history teaches us anything, it is that whatever goes up, must surely
come down. Beginnings and ends … followed by renewed,
beginnings and ends. The wise man knows this and acts accordingly and reasonably.
Not to act upon what’s been duly learned …

… fosters imbalance. It’s a sure sign of the impending fall, of what’s up and
a cycle’s impending end. Sapients ought,
if sufficiently knowledgeable, and objective, be able to alter course, and
re-chart, a new one, if not to be caught …

… with pants … down. What might we accomplish if we cast off our blinders,
and peer beyond, the paradigm matrices
that constrain us? What force we’d muster, if we’d focus our intellectual power,
better? Tap then into … His untapped, resources.

Tapping into scriptural resources reveals their consistently pluralistic
messages. So doing casts off blinders; so doing
permits peering past constraining paradigm matrices; so doing calls for their holistic
expansion, and doing … is believing.

Dreams that subsist through to development are, accordingly, as incomprehensible
mixes, of past and present, glorious testament,
to His Majesty. And so, intermittently, Arthur drank corrosives; and when able,
in bursting fits, with friends … did testament.

For Art, the intestate layman turned lawyer, turned lush, turned lyrical philosopher,
learned, invaluable truths, not in school … but asleep.
In an otherworldly realm between life and death, answered was Arthur’s plaintive prayer:
What if, from “what if” … rich harvests … we reap?

Would that such words be, for Art, a symbolic epitaph. The only worthwhile
vindication is in the salvation of one’s soul.
On that, the Big Three agree. It’s over temporal matters, that we learn to revile.
Let’s start from scratch, to transcend … to a whole.

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