there is a roil of mumblings rumbling downhill, rising at the last kick of this precipitous age. intelligence grow(n)s as we study and learn in the infinite abyss; gathering understanding and enlightenment, even from darkness, defining nothing to the nth degree...
the urgency of humanity driving, ever inviting further complexity as the known world grow(n)s, continuing to fold back on it'self, lifting us above branches formed by ancestral delight in the fanstastically essential wonder of discovery. the timbre of those dreams lost in the drone of new growth...
the gravity of which drops from our minds like that fateful apple,
forgotten on the ground once cherished as home.
forgotten, this ground dweller, with humanities humble begginnings, as the race presses towards the fragile precipice of the finish line...
what happens when the race is over?
return to the home we let go of and are unaware that we forgot...
ReplyDeletethere is hope as we awaken, like you have, with power,depth and grace
onward.. man... onward