Mediocrity

Metallic eyes, distancing that self from society. A memory comes true, it dwells again in the day. And there were appropriate people in my little world today, and it was pleasing to accept. And there was a dream of another lifetime, where understanding went awry and in the dream there seemed to be a gift of wanting me to gain understanding in its distant aftermath. And the memory of dream is oftentimes like the memory of a happening of long before, in the awakening and the haze. In the see-saw jungle, nothing is clearly determined nor defined, and tomorrow can easily change the truth that I seemed to see in today. So outside of this, life and truth lie in fog, and that same fog will clear sometime, until it returns again. And dreams sometimes step out of the sleeping self and enter into the present consciousness, in a quiet and invisible way. So the comforter invades. The spirit cannot deny, it isn't really aware, and has no question, no debate with either dream or reality. An explosion of radical change seems to have occurred to the world, and I can only observe it from the little part of it that I am in. I forgive my narrowness,there is no guilt. And the longing of the heart is no longer intense, it has settled somewhat in some kind of ease of acceptance. I question my interests nonetheless, and why I should take myself to them. Perhaps now I should believe in mediocrity in the true sense of the word, in that middle place.