Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Truth and lies, death and life

An abstraction must delete information from reality or it serves no purpose.  There can be no complete description save the thing itself.  Any representation is, by necessity, lacking.  There can be no true re-telling, no accurate report, all become lies in the face of vivid truth.  The present and the past, meeting at a razor's edge of now, they are cut apart and can not be brought together despite the trick of memory or record.  Thus only actions of fidelity as only they can occur in the present, all else attempts to span the past and the future and becomes lies.  All words are, by their nature, lies.  In speaking honestly one must besmirch the truth and commit sin in telling.  No conversation is forthright and no person who reaches out to those around may consider themselves clean of error.  There is no escape nor release from this trap save in action.

Thus is beauty found in action, in the creation.  Creation is art, dissection is death and the end of beauty.  But beauty may only exist in the moment, in the elusive now.  It is bordered and framed and shelved neatly between beginning and ending.  That is why true beauty ends in death, the desire for action is the desire to end action, just as the desire to move is the desire to be still.  Movement may only be understood in the context of beginning and ending.  'Where is he going?', 'where did she start?', the movement itself relegated to meaningless by the dominant bookends of inaction.  Birth and death serve as the foundation and the capstone of live and overshadow any action in it.  What is life?  It is to be born, and it is to die, the rest of triviality.  There is no other surety, no other constant to define life and so the borders must define it.

The truth of action understood only through the lies of words.  The joy of life known only in the pain of death.  To find beauty we seek destruction, to find joy we look for sorrow.  The end of joy is sorrow, it is the constant that befriends joy, the end of life is death and the two made from the same beginning.  We are tied to death as truth is tied to falsehood.  They come from the same lips, they fall from the same stream.  We battle uphill, against the current: what do we see?

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