The resilience of the human spirit (alright, spirit at all) never ceases to amaze me. Despondence, mortification, pain, suffering -- everywhere, an omnipresence of Pandora's eternal guilt complex waiting to be affirmed, embraced, acknowledged. And there is always, perennially, choice. The pain, as she earnestly confided, is one thing...suffering, as much as I've connected the two, is optional. It is in counting the out-breaths that we can really feel the release of each individual moment. Perhaps this is how I conceive of a moment as a unit of time -- the passage between each glorious exhalation.
Conspiratiorial...conspiritorial? Spirit and halation are entwined, tangled, inextricably. The difference, when one is perceived, is in the perceiver; the locus remains eternally inaccessible, elusive and dynamic. It is least phenomenological in stasis, however, which is as compelling an argument as any I've ever encountered for flexibility of my self (myself, my's elf, etc ad nauseam). I'd like to perceive infinite possibility recirocally, or strive and seek, forgoing finding to never yield.
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