Dreaming of treasure …

I am an old dog, well set in his ways, but that is not to say I do not spend much of my life looking for new tricks that are worth learning …

I could be gentle, and describe myself as (at times, by turns, in measured doses) acerbic, but that is ridiculous understatement. Venomous, again, does not cut it. When I anger, I stand as Zeus, and cast down thunderous wrath on whatever unfortunate mortal set me off. And what has often set me to rage in the past have been things I had no right hating – to do so was hypocritical. But worse, I would not allow others their foolishness, their whimsy, their imaginative indulgences. Facts needed to be examined, damn it. Escapist ideas can be life saving, but they can also signal the darkness before a messy end; the closing of eyes to hopeless scenery. And since we are chained to a social structure that envelopes us all to varying degrees, it behooves both the individual and the community to raise standards of rational, logical, reasonable (and especially critical) thought wherever possible.

Now I find the scale tipping.

No doubt it has done so before, probably more than I realise, but this time seems noteworthy.

I have the heart of a collector, you see … and there is a certain piece of merchandise I have spied with my little eye, in a marketplace I frequent, that makes my heart leap. If it is legitimate, it is a piece of history in a certain area of interest, and (subjectively) an objet d’art of burning personal desire. If it is not, then of course, it is worth little either way.

But if it is … If it, indeed, is …

And there comes the quandary for the day: Do I care? I have no way of verifying one way or the other whether this article is as described; I have no reason to believe it is not authentic. But do I care? Or can I let go of the reasoning I usually try to evangelize, in favour of misty-eyed dreaming? Can I afford the emotional investment?

I think I can.

I think I would like to purchase this article, and treasure it as genuine, and brook no questions (from myself or others) as to its provenance. It can be my fragile belief, my ponderous hope … my own piece of stuff-and-nonsense. If it is really what I think, then all the better. If not … well, that is a closed door.

I cannot go back through those whose musings I have stomped on so wilfully (well, most of them … a few are within reach, and will hear from me shortly), whether I would or not: a lot of that stomping and thundering needed to be, for one reason or another. But I can look forward now, and relate to the strange fancies people sometimes allow themselves. Perhaps.

Unless they are being really stupid; then, all bets are (always) off.


~ by thedyingmoments on July 25, 2013.

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