The Eccentric Shunned.
The lie is, as a man you put your toys away. The truth challenges this. What young lad, for example, denies the urge to saw or wield a welder of sorts, and maybe put up a fence or fix a wall. As someone versed on the mystical, mythical and magical, I still share a certain jealousy with the workmen, who, as they say “earn their keep”. I am of different being, presence, and sort. I am often complimented when either stranger or older company refers to me as “man” over “guy”, or worse.
In boy-with-toy, to man-with-tool, he soul changes its preoccupation, to things that develop, build, and help. Be it others’ or their own castle, fort, house, flat or bungalow. The man should be measured by his conviction to help others, to make the broken come alive again, to fix what others have ruined, be it close, far, near, remotely or ambiguously and/or random. A real man seeks the good at all times, and does not waste breath on petty grievance or idle gossip, nor gossip as the a female may tend to.
I forget what I knew about toys when I was much younger, and through the years, said enough about the great gaming renaissance around us. I am in a position, not of luck, all the time, but of one where, I need medication and care. I fought it all my 20’s, but here in my 30’s I know I cannot rely on my subconscious to do what I need it to do, reliably.
All this aside, I want people to know that what the skeptics and critics may say of me being childish, is not correct and not accurate. Youthful, the term and meaning behind it, hollers and echoes that what I am, that is something different to child, man, or manchild. My feelings brush and bristle under the surface. I look at the cartoon, I look at the curvature and mathematics and animations of the soul, I witness plants that blossom in ways the artist can’t ignore, that the sleepless science, here of biology, will never grasp.
What do those frightened of me mean, when they shout at a distance or feel provoked by my tenderness and retained youthfulness, what do they mean, when their message is to be “grown-up”. I’ll deliver my insight. It can be one word and one word only: “conform.” This is the only key left for a doorway to a life of entrapment and jaded temperament that wasn’t made for me. The heavens teach this always. The keys to heaven rely on those that treat children well, and who enact within themselves, the virtues of a child at play. Da Vinci confirms this, as does Tesla, of course, Picasso, and many others, took stances against the beer-swill and football to announce themselves as supermen, often shunned. Brilliance and otherworldliness seem to be the enemy of the man who conforms, who alligns his ignorance and conformity, with a “never liked him anyway” to individuals they must take more seriously as examples of one who knows, oneself as a soul? Because who is reading this if not youthfulness imitating a haggard vessel?
The Humble Rock Dove 