RESIDING IN THE BLACK IRON PRISON- A CELEBRATION OF FUTILITY

So, what are we doing here, what is this thing? Life?
The accumulation of little moments one after the other in a vast parade towards
what? The end? Or perhaps the beginning. Are we going up or down?
The sad thing is that in all likelihood we are stuck, brothers and sisters.
Stuck and trapped like mice in a maze of infinite possibilities just doing nothing. We had (and still have) our precious experiences but what are we doing with them? Are we going to be any better than we used to be? Are we?
I really don't know and frankly I don't care, just sit tight for the ride, that's wishful thinking for a change. What in all honesty do we seek?
Fulfilment is one thing, but how can you reach it? Through others, those precious others (let's call them friends, lovers, family or whatever) or through ourselves (with the disciplines and rigours of faith, religion, politics etc.)
The road to the uppermost chambers is long and weary and nowhere to be found, so let us relax and enjoy our time in Malkuth 'cause this time we are not going to be crowned kings or queens.
To say that wisdom is for everybody is one thing and a completely different one to know how to grasp it. But do we need wisdom? And what the hell is wisdom? We are here now, counting our days, meeting people like us or not, celebrating every aspect of this tragic charade.
The late great R.A.Wilson wrote that life is a phalanx of maybes with very few certainties, so everything is relevant, time and again, what the thinker thinks the prover proves is a truism, in other words it's possible to work everything out fine this time around, if only we can keep detached and aloof from the low, the gross and the unhealthy, just for this time let's prove the poet right "that which disturbs your soul do not suffer". Let us be each one of us our own private islands of serenity and stimulation and if we are seeking like minded individuals we let them come but more importantly let them go in peace, the moments together count for so much, away from us the attachments and the sentimentalities, not because as Mrs. Good so eloquently put it "...don't expect one single person to stay loyal to you or understand you" but in spite of this.
It's cold and dark in here so let us crowd together for little warmth and then off we go to our separate ways. Travellers all, even without a clear destination.
Biding our time, trying to get through, come with a bang, out with a whisper.
It doesn't really make any difference. If there were or still are sixty adepts in the world (Dr. Baker wrote this in the late '70's) don't count me in, although I can't say the same about you.
And if we indeed speak not in words but in thunderbolts (Nietzsche said it, not me) what will happen? What must happen? Will we force the hands of fate? Let the wheel keep on turning faster and faster? Those terrible questions again. What a load of crap I say. In the end we are not going to make any difference, we are not going to be better men or women, all those great words, the lofty ideals, the philosophizing are just a distraction, a game of sort. We invent and re-invent situations and mindscapes for our amusement, something like a carnival of the intellectual variety.
We, the people of the word, the utropics as Ka'at said. Going through the dark night, with lost innocence and clipped wings. Towards an end that never comes, among sleepwalkers and sad excuses, more awake, more alert,
ha! we wish.