Reality defies the transcendent, dismisses the perfect, makes a mess of the eternal, enjoys the promise of the infinite, celebrates the mutable (this song of the mire), knows itself by cause & effect, and in spite of its many constraints, aspires to an excess of freedom. Reality is weather-like in its moral confusion, ambiguous intentions, sifting interests, contentious identities & provocative vagueness. Hopeful because of its athletic spontaneity, deceived as often by its avariciousness. Led darkly astray by extreme “self-interest”, redeemed by its sunny generosity.
An entirely fecund enterprise consumed by the pleasures of increase. An entanglement of the endeavoring infinitesimals that people the universe & teach us how to be creaturely.
Reality is beset with revisions which are themselves the ingenious fortuity of stars. Most keenly felt amid their extravagant beauty & when such beauty is suborn—the well ordered heavens operating thoughtlessly—Reality mocks the status of its own satisfaction with the imperatives of a hunger that is diminished by what feeds it; or the well ordered in lock step, slavishly stiffening into the serrated edge of cruelty. Engines of destruction that range from patriotism to the perfection of entropy.
Never to be wholly overwhelmed (though persistently threaten), its totality is in each atom of Life & its adventure the atoms of Life's entirety.
Muscid fly seeking the satisfaction that compels Reality
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