I love the lush chase of an intellectual adventure -- the self-negating rush to the next point that contains the auspicious crawlings of evereternal truth. Time forgets me, hand in hand with my shady self, off to a foreign landing -- somewhere, no doubt, where suffering mounts, where dreams break and the bad blood of reality comes leaking through.
The feeling is an analog to going in for the kill. The animal in me is sublimated to a starry shore of abstractions. After all, we also think through blood, and thought is incorporeal killing -- of lies, untruth, and all other fads society consumes.
And commitment to truth -- beyond the partisan pandering, beyond the extrinsic rewards -- is justice toward God. Let me be just, oh God, and let the rush run. But let it not slide from my mind that justice without love is a dance without movement.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
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