Cycles

Knowledge past a certain point is not what one knows but what one does not. The measure stretches out further and further rendering the finite a mere infinitesimal dot on an eternal plotline. Time then comes in as our companion. Our guide. For it too is eternal, however it can be processed by even the smallest of creatures. It takes us by the hand and gently leads us forward. It allows us to make sense of all around us. It allows us to process all and attain knowledge. As it gently leads us ever further into the expanse we truly begin to see all that around us. For the acute observer the new frontiers begin to form into repeating patterns. Sequences. Cycles. The more knowledge one has and the more they walk with time the clearer they see. All the order become chaos, then back to order, then chaos again, and then back to order once more. They realize that if something appears novel or as an outlier they need only look higher to find the pattern they fit perfectly into.

It is not the job of the author of writing to say something new. Such a task is impossible. Nor is it the task of the author to be original, nor distinct, nor any other quality that many would denominate as being unique. No. It is the mandate of the author not to create, but to seek. The pen is his magnifying glass, and the world his to bring into focus as he sees fit. His only prerogative is to create the puzzle piece that is missing currently from the cycle of which he is a part of. That cycle could be of anything. In fact it could be for many different cycles. So too the painter, and the sculptor, and the musician. All are seeking a piece for a cycle that may have existed for eons before their time.

For the politics of a day and time they matter not. Or rather I should say it is only possible to expand the duration of a cycle not prevent it entirely. All empires, nations, and civilizations fall victim to such cycles. It is an inevitability. An empire of warriors begats one of sloth and consumption, which causes its downfall. The cycle completes. A nation of religious zealots begats one of sodomy and moral bankruptcy. The cycle completes. A civilization founded upon the natural beauty of truth begats one that is a den of liars and fools. The cycle completes. For those of political opinion know this: you have no more control over your nation than the cycle allows. A righteous man in the face of a wicked state can do no more than a wicked man can in the face of a righteous state. While time is a gentle guide it seldom cares what people it trod upon to move forward. Such people who attempt to break a cycle alone are broken by it. They find themselves facing a battle that they had no hope of winning. In many cases they even are aware of this, choosing to fight on simply to feel as though they tried to prevent the inevitable or further the impossible.

When one knows little they see the symptoms of such things around them. They witness any event and may draw conclusions. They point to such thing and murmur amongst themselves. Such and such is the problem, they arrogantly declare. With satisfied looks then they propose solutions that would remove that which they take issue with. All of this is worthless. A slightly smarter individual may see the same thing as not only a problem, but the symptom of a bigger one. Feeling himself superior to those who only drew their conclusions from what was in front of them he arrogantly believes the matter he finds problematic may be resolved by finding a more hidden root problem and fixing it. This is also worthless. An even smarter intellect may find the same matter only one of many instances of an endemic problem at the very foundation. That what he finds at fault is not a single brick or the wall it was laid upon, but the structure as a whole. Feeling himself superior to those who only presumed the problem to be so small when drawing their conclusions he crafts his own solution to fix the entire structure. This all is worthless.

Then there is the wise man. He can see the event in question. He can see how it relates to itself and the wall it was built into. He understands the nature of the structure it resides in. Unlike all those beneath him however he sees no problems. In fact he see no symptoms or issues or problems. He understands the structure is doomed. It had been from the very beginning. He has made peace with the concept of inevitability. He neither fears nor lauds events as they play out. He has tread with time long enough to gain true knowledge. His eyes have been opened and he can see the cycles that surround him. There is no disgust or hatred or contempt for what is destroyed. Nor is there happiness or somberness or sadness for what is created. The wise man knows all of this is fleeting, ever fleeing, and always returning.

To attempt to break a cycle is the errand of fools, as is labelling with morality the current part of the cycle. While the events played out within the cog of time may be prescribed an ethical implication none can be applied to the cog itself. A cycle is a sine wave through reality. A pattern that has no morality, only geometry, forever following the trail time takes us upon. At such a high level one no longer even sees the individual event. They simply see a beautiful pattern dotted like twinkling stars, each one unique yet all together forming that same pattern over and over again. These few people are those who are wise. They are the few who trod with time long enough to see these patterns, then allowed their guide to show them the beauty each cycle holds. These are the people that may smile when calamity arises or disaster comes knocking. For they understand the inevitability of the cycle at play. The events may unfold in any way, however they already know the outcome. It was never even an uncertainty. The cycle may only be postponed. It can never be prevented.

Cycles, cycles, beyond what eyes can see
Cycles, cycles, all around me
Cycles, cycles, an eternal orchestra
Cycles, cycles, yet so few listen

PF