Schemes and Dreams
Even now, so many months later, I still remember the beautiful writing of that unknown hand. I still remember how this person called all the words under his command, even while he (although I do not know if it was indeed a "he" at all) wrote of how some days the words would flow under his pen and express what he wanted them to, while other times they did not. Or...I am not certain that was what he said.---
I cannot help wondering about such seemingly pointless questions as, "Ought I to ponder those great philosophical questions of life or shall I live in the moment, doing what I ought to do and thinking of nothing else?" My nature calls me to stop thinking about the philosophy of life, it is a waste of time, it will not get me where I am going. And yet, when I read the reflections of others or the great works of those profound philosophers of yesterday (Aristotle, Plato, Socrates), I cannot stop myself from admiring the questions they try to answer, the questions I try not to answer. Why is it all such a struggle? And I ask that not in complaint or protest or anger, but merely in curiousity. It is a fact of life, after all. I can assert here that life is struggle, and the triumph at the end of the day, that final breath when you know you have run your best race, climbed that highest mountain, that indeed is the pinnacle of all of life because it is the completion and the final victory over Struggle.
