Philosophy Shot My Brain

A lot of people read for leisure. I read either until my eyes grow heavy or until I can feel my frontal lobes bloating. I read to grow, and the moments of transcendent wonder clairvoyant in snatches of prose catch up on me serendipitously. I pray to God to be able to understand obscure truths, almost as much as I pray to love the world. I want to know everything that can be known.

But what would happen if that ever came to pass? Who would I ever tell? Genius is an island with miraged bridges.

It's better to read for crucifixional purposes. To prove that your preconceptions are wrong -- about yourself, about the nature of the world --, or not-quite-right. Perchance to the point where you abandon your work and decide to pay attention to nature, other people, a cold autumn morning, cumulus clouds exiling an innocent blue sky. What then? It's a matter of time before this attention breaks its womb and bursts into an undifferentiated, God-breathing love.

Lightness blooms. Nothing is as heavy as it was before. Effortlessly, you filter obscurity from the vital, because you see how the vital is so intimately related to ameliorating life. You wear this cure as an invisible badge and flit lucidity at every section of the world you come across. And at this very moment, wisdom is born.

Philosophy, my dear professor, is the means to discovering that we don't know. Love of wisdom is found in shadows that when entered break into gardens of light.