Leaves

Sometimes I can't help but think, for all the world, I am the only one to see it(')s splendor true(ly). I can't look at anything and not wonder at it. I can't not think of all the things it came from, all the possibilities unrealized, and all the realities it inhabits from the fundamental to the imagined. From the abstract to the direct sensations. The multitude of expressions it inspires and all the subjective ways I know. A room, a square foot of ground, a sentence. All unfolding leaves of lexicons of meanings. How can anyone walk this existence and not be completely snared by such astounding and ever-twisting ropes of reality? But instead I find myself awash in a glittering sky with no bottom. I see that I've cast myself too far astray, so let me pull the threads into a pattern spun for you.

I can't pick anything and see it in a single way. Something can never be just "a chair" or a "scrap of paper" or "a footstep." Surely everyone thinks of an objects present purpose an order of magnitude more sharply, but that doesn't remove all the side realities. The very definition of what something is, is rife with qualifications of context, audience, simplicity, and perception.

A chair; as in the barest, most abstract dictionary qualifications? A chair as in anything used for that purpose? A chair today or the epitome of a chair a few millennia ago? If you mean the reality of that chair, here, now.... then should we be thinking of it in the context of someone else in the room, or an elderly Asian man who has lost his sight? Is it for its aesthetics? Alone or in conjunction with its surroundings? As an architect? Photographer? Painter, sketch artist, or game designer? How are they different and the same, anyway?

Historically, chemically, philosophically, politically, socially, satirically. Anyone can single out the qualities to emphasize or camouflage, sort out the tangle, and summon-assemble a custom existence. That is the nature of reality or perception. Everything is locked up within the single object and activated by thought-alchemy. And as with any alchemy, you can't control the reaction entirely, nor can you prevent it from completion.

Of course I delight in it. Darting through pieces of meanings like a swallow twisting and arcing after gnats. (but why is no one else playing with me at this game? And if not joining me, then at least acknowledging the sport? Surely, surely, no one lives in one dimension? Oh and what would that even be like? )

Sometimes it is a mystical talent all my own to spin such realities out of a single artifact, and other times it is purely the nature of the human mind to make predictions, amplifications and extricate patterns. But whatever the case, there are many perspectives where there is infinite wonder for me to watch unraveling. Or maybe I mean coiling.


Oh won't you see, oh don't you see.
How wonderful the world can be.
How every little mystery
is out there just for us to free.

That every second of passing time
From now to then, is your's and mine
That every moment is sublime
And there is all of it to find