idealism, realism, skepticism, pragmatism, naturalism; isms may be used to describe a person’s belief system or view, system or filter through which one sees things, and yet I do not fit any of these perfectly, perhaps because I am imperfect and fallible, yet I think, although this is true enough, it is not the exact answer I’m searching for, no. All of these I am, and less and more. It just depends. Depends on the day. I try everything on to see if it fits first, don’t you? I suggest that no thing and no-one can be exactly anything we describe, discern or decide. Who are we to judge? How well are any of us equipped, even the scholar? Why so black and white? Why, even when grey, are there multitudes of black and white variants of that shade. Look to the left and to the right, gaining perspective from all sides, your reality is merely a perception of all you perceive and less. No-one can know all things. Therefore it is all you perceive and less. All things perceived are a guide only, everything you see, is merely a reflection, reflecting back to you, something of your own nature and perhaps, if you are insightful enough, the nature of others or another. Do you see yourself in the turning of the leaves at Autumn, as your unfolding character grows and changes with the seasons of life? Do you see yourself in the buzz and blossom of Spring, remember to remind yourself of that pink glow on your face that will accompany the sun’s generous warmth as you trudge through cold and hard laborious days with a weary wintered soul. Do you gain insight over the winter months, as a bleak and brittle world turns white, echoing variants of death and yet this same strange enchanted world sings hauntingly of lullabies and mentions aspects of the history that preceded your welcome on this earth, your ancestors perhaps? Is there an echo in your heart, an echo to remind you of all the things you’ve said and done, an echo that ensures humility. Can you forgive, not only others, but your very self? Do you see yourself reflected in the summer, your youth brought to mind, realising aspects of your growth ever since, do you sometimes see your younger self and dwell on how quickly the time has seemed to flow, and somehow feel your fate is sealed. Or are you still lodging as a youth, with every whim and wonder at your fingertips. The summer of youth is resplendent and kind, but with age comes a reminder, when our frame is bent and stooped, of how the sun implores us to make the most of what we have while we still have it.
Do you see your reflection as it is in the mirror, with lines etched to remind you of your laughter, have forgotten how to sing, sagging skin to remind you of the elasticity of youth and how it no longer befits you? Or do you look in the pool that is sparkling and see your wizened frame and notice how the changes made have enriched your nature and provided you with character as deep as ebony and as sweet as grapes sun-ripened on the vine?
somewhat inspired by Jorge Luis Borges, and the first poem of his “The Art of Poetry” I’ve ever read, thanks to solarbear’s profile page I then read about him, his life and that lead me to ponder ‘isms’….please don’t ask why, because I have no idea how it came to this…lol