A Strange Conclusion, or a Busy-semester Illusion

After years of absence from the Blogosphere, thoughts guided me back to this mental heat sink. The year of absence is better thought of, I think, as a year of data collection, a year of harvest of the people, of what is going on. I exceeded my expected social capacity and reached unexplored area of the self and everything else. I can not draw a single-post conclusion from the past year for this, but I will start planting those seed posts about daily or weekly thoughts, which I would love replanting after sprouting, trimming the first branches, smelling the first flowers, and seeing the fruits ripen, and then savoring the first bite.

My thought for this post was for what I have come to know of the Ivory tower and its helical staircases. Although picturing staircases in an Ivory Tower brings a strange warmth of a comfortable wonderland, stranger are the souls wandering the tower. The staircases only takes you to levels which branch in hallways, and in the hallways are doors. The doors are but entrances to offices and every office is hunted by a soul. Souls long known for their work, more than for their self, for they work. They work more than many. They don't plow, nor do they fish. They made better nets and thought of better plows though. A better net makes a better fisherman, and a lighter plow relieves that farmer. Saints those souls are. Perhaps prophets for they share their knowledge to the most eager to take it; they donate closets of thoughts to us, beggars for science, and as my Grandfather used to say, no beggar but the beggar for science. Saints those souls must be.

Yet, it took a semester of soul diving to peel the souls in onion shells. The first peel is thick and dry; you meet the soul, you behold its hardness, and you wonder about the roots and shoots. Soon the hard shells seems cracking. Persistence drills in marble, and souls aren't even of marble. Only the hungriest of the beggars would peel the last falling piece of the first shell for the next shell does smell. The next shell is of a soft, naive white texture, hid by experience under a blanket of overlapping epithelium stacked in a random fashion as if they weren't given time to settle. You read the soul as an open book, and here were you need faith. Faith in begging for more is what brought you to this shell, why linger on? Yes, it is disappointing. An Ivory-Tower-hunting soul now exposed to the rays of your hunger; Here is a Saint drinking of the river of sins. A river that keeps the saint hunting the tower and reliving the farmer. Souls milked for knowledge and fed in return. Souls struggling to walk themselves up the staircase and beggars on their trail.

A strange conclusion, or merely a productivity delusion?