I am zoned out of a world I thought once to be beautiful because of its simplicities and no amount of complexity could stray my eye away from that simple red rose with budding thorns; and blossoming rays of sunlight streaming across deserts and mountain tops patched in snow; melting away into streams and rivers of rapidly coursing veins down the banks, through trees and massive forests; cutting through hatch and ragged rocks like canyons – beautiful depths and ridges flowing through Utah, Colorado, Arizona; like natural springs and the crisp bite of cold in the Swiss Alps; like the cliffs of Eastbourne overlooking the sea and the lighthouse that protects the coast from crashing ships.
I am zoned out in a world of man-made beauties. The castles of Europe standing tall and prideful with haunting appeal, centuries old; cities carved into desert rocks in the Middle East; the tall pillars of competition and victories in the cities of the United States; even the homes built out of vanity and wealth – beautiful; the carved rocks of ancient civilization in Egypt and their momentous tombs –pyramids, beacons of pride and dignity and leadership; the stairways to heavens unseen in the deep forests of forgotten lands; the plains and their majestic animals disappearing in Africa; the oceans swimming with all sorts of life we’ve yet to uncover, and yet being poisoned by us – those so eager to dominate it.
So, you see, I am zoned out. I have no time for politics, diplomats, parliaments, aristocratic favors and what-have-you. I am zoned out in a world of simplicities forgotten by all but those who remember they’re there; those that explore; those that triumph in a world that is no longer seen as precious anymore. I am zoned out, I am realistic, and I am beginning to realize just how precious a disintegrating world is to a civilization that is oblivious of it.
I saw a flower So miniscule compared to a tower But it’s beauty so superior The tower so inferior Though a piece of art Created by someone so smart But a flower wasn’t designed Nor created by mankind Instead a natural piece It’s life only a temporary lease Nothing is forever Nor constant, always an unpredictable endeavor But that’s the beauty Nature’s easily attainable duty The want, the need, to continue on As we look forward towards the next dawn
Tick, tock We count the seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, decades of our lives. Why? Time is a man-made construct. We're taught to define our lives by it, confine our very selves by it from the time of our birth, counting down until our death. One, two, three, four. Stop the counting. Do what you have to, but then... As far as I'm concerned time should not be a rule, but merely a suggestion.