Omne Trium Perfectum

The zealous romantic, the austere realist, and the hopeless cynic. The zealous romantics appreciate their pulchritudinous surroundings to a fault. They embrace the naivety of their aspirations by excluding pragmatic solutions. While people decay with time, the romantic idolizes the immortality of their idea; the idea that love isn’t an ephemeral force but rather an innate proclivity.

The austere realists are neutralized by their own logical reasoning and take nothing more than what the world gives them. They have been inured to conduct an internal feasibility analysis when approaching decisions. Their cautious nature and cookie-cutter approaches are presented as realistic. However, the austere realists are defending their defense mechanisms designed to obviate the impact of failing by rationalizing failure.     

The hopeless cynic is ensnared by negative thought and misanthropy. While there is a famous adage proclaiming that “a cynic is a disappointed romantic,” I am inclined to interpret them as the final transformation of a romantic. While the transformation can move backwards, as in the cynic transforming to a romantic, my own life experiences and interactions with people have proved that a caterpillar cocoons into a butterfly; the butterfly doesn’t abdicate its power to fly by devolving into a caterpillar.

The connection in this Omne trium perfectum is based on the transformational phases of mankind. The zealous romantic finds the bastion of hope within their youth. They grow into the austere realist that are cognizant of life’s parameters. Lastly, they self-destruct into the hopeless cynic only to be born again.                  

Dare to be an Optimist

The Mind is the dictator of mood. The Mind that knows no boundaries only perpetuates its own self destruction. The kryptonite of this Mind is the noxious kiss of Insanity. Now Insanity gives a crumb of bread to its indentured servant, Pessimism. 

Discipline the mind with Optimism because life doesn't move backwards and evolution requires a restrain of emotion and a dire accentuation of humility. Abandon your thirst for anguish and rejuvenate the jovial aspects of your persona. Do not be threatened by the veneer of Optimism but don't decay to the pull of Pessimism.  

When I grow up...

Beware child, in that house lives a cynic. He will trample on your hopes and dreams. He will suffocate your motivation, reverse your drive, and immerse your ideas with his evil statistics. Pay him no mind.

And one more thing...don't look into his eyes for you will only witness your own reflection twenty years down the line. For he is you.

Seductive Illusions

Champagne is the elixir of choice for the gregarious aristocracy. Red wine insinuates a hint of urbane mixed with an artistic and intellectual persona. White wine is the predilection of the dilettantes who treasure the mantra "carpe diem."

Competition and the superiority complex motivates all parties to deliver at the expense of the losers. The cheap beer consuming daredevils who swallow the rigors of a minimum-wage existence acclimate to the norms of their demographic. The dream of economical mobility or the desperate wrath of cynicism keep these folks from revolting. 

Curiosity is the courtesan of the undisciplined mind. She pretends to be a non-alcoholic beer but her effects are nothing short of toxic. Curiosity is the murderer of our illusions. She is an unforgiving atheist. She leads us not to the gates of prosperity but to the dungeons of insanity. 

Once you pick apart these illusions, Once you discover the hole in your infatuations, Once you succumb to the tyranny of your environment, 

You taste not the wine nor the beer. You only taste the burn of the liquor. 

Not with a bang, with a whimper

This is the way the world ends 

Not with a bang but a whimper

This is one of the most striking of all of T.S. Eliot's stanzas. It successfully describes and captures the true spirit of man and the future that this earth will hold. As a prelude to this post I wish to confess that I am a pessimistic, borderline nihilistic, semi-anarchist. I have no faith in human nature or the "good works" that human's claim to create. So, as a result of my pessimistic perspective regarding man, I may be biased in the lines that are about to come forth from this post. If this bothers you at all, please discontinue your journey through the lines and words. But, if you give my rant a chance and, hopefully, critically meditate upon it, I wish to enlighten you with Eliot's simple and beautiful words.

There are two things that I believe we can learn from Eliot's stanza. The first is a simple yet important message, one that regards the impending doom that we are facing. I am no apocalyptic fanatic, but I do believe that our Earth is rotting. It is dying from the inside out. It is struggling and facing the daunting task that is in front of it, surviving the harshest animal that has ever come about: humanity. Eliot's stanza understands and underscores this idea, coming to the realization that this world will end. Not this Earth mind you, for it's time is coming but is not the subject of our dissection, it is the world that is coming to an end. Our world that is nearing its expiration date. There is a distinct difference between the world and the Earth that the world inhabits. Our world is a collection of our beliefs, our identities, our societal and political structures. It is our memories, our hopes, our dreams, our collective efforts towards the "common good". It is a compilation of all that we hold dear and all that we hold in disgust. This world is the world that will end. We cannot keep this illusion, this phantasy, this dream alive. It is dying. When it finally gives out, breathing its final breath, we will hold witness to all of the destruction, all of the evil, all of the actions that we have done in this life. Our humanity will not bring forth life, only death. For how can the dead create life on it's own accord? It cannot. It requires a source that is absent of its grasp and control. It needs something that it cannot provide on its own. This idea brings us to the second and, in my humble opinion, the most important message that we can derive from the stanza of Eliot. We will fall, but we will not fall in a blaze of glory. We will whimper like a dog, a beaten animal that has nothing to hold on to, and nothing to call its own. We are not going to die as conquerors but rather as paupers. We will be force to bare witness to not only our own destruction, but also the true nature of humanness. The true nature of our pitiful existence. This is the horrifying revelation, the enlightenment that we will all face. Some will face it before our collapse, others will not be awaken until they see what is to come. This is how we end, not with a bang but with a whimper. And we will all bear witness to the apocalypse of all that we have cherished, all that we have placed on a pedestal, all that we have claimed to be "important" or "good". We will stare in silence with nothing left to say or do. We will have nothing, and in having nothing we might realize the true nature of life. This wretched temporal existence. We will begin to understand that idea that we should have prioritized from the start. Death is only the beginning of  life. We fear this idea, we attempt to side step it and change the question in an instant. We do anything that we can in order to not face the reality that we all must face. The reality of death. We must embrace. Embrace all that is to come and all that has come. Do not think yourself so mighty as to fight against that which nature intends. Do not believe yourself so wise and "modern" as to bring death in the guise of peace. Destruction in the name of Liberation. Terror in the name of Hope. These constructs, these ideas, these sides that we choose will bring us to ruin. They have already ruined us, almost to the point of no hope. This is not the life we are to lead, a life where we attempt to mold and shape the fates, to be "good", to create "change", to do what the master tells of you. To listen to the temporal good and the wisdom of the fools is to die. It is to die a death that has no honor, no praise, no romantic ending. It is to whimper and cower in the face of the death of all we know. It is, as Eliot puts it so eloquently, the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper. 

Ambivalence of thy Neighbor

The curtains blur the sunlight from the outside world. The television distracts from the sounds generated by strangers. Fifty years ago we vilified our neighbors as "Communists" utilizing McCarthyism as a weapon of mass separation. The individualistic culture imposed on the Americans has failed to harness communitarian values. Our social circles reflect coteries rather than tribes, social networking for self benefit over the consolidation of intellectual minds, and competition over coalition. We flaunt our borders over our civility for humanity and moralize ourselves as givers because taking insinuates inadequacies. Relationships harbor vulnerabilities and over exposure yet without their existence we would be the last of our breed. The family is no longer a nuclear unit confined to the walls of a household. The bloc party begins with the instruments of unison and collaboration. We must all be malleable to the requests of our neighbors as they must be malleable to our concerns. 

Community matters. Involvement matters. The good we fight for matters. Even though in the end we will all be matter. 

The Ice Age

COLD. The perfect reaction to the hardships of life. The only term that can terminate. The only season that can freeze our imperfections. The harbinger of Demise.

HOPE. The golden bridge connecting False Security and Disputable Optimism. The oxygen machine of the human spirit yet the infected needle injecting Ignorance.

ANGUISH. Shattering the goblet of Sanity while quaffing the Regret Whiskey. The permeation of Humility at the cost of Humiliation. The Emptiness inside the Door of Opportunity.

REALITY. The genocide of Quixotism. An atomic bomb explosion demolishing Imagination. The weapon of the narrow minded utilized to extinguish creativity.