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Oct. 11, 2004 The time has come for me to bid farewell the wholly absurd, mysterious, and ultimately meaningless realm of philosophy. It has been a dear friend to me for over six years, although one that dwelled with me only within the maze of my own mind and thus I must release it out into the equally absurd and mystifying void quietly continuing outside the imagination of our dearest thoughts. I suppose such an abrupt parting from something I have been acquainted with for a relatively brief period deserves an explanation of some kind. Well, here it is then: Philosophy, as it endeavors to arrive ultimately at a meaning for everything, including itself, has proved to be a failed attempt. But it is not only philosophy that fails miserably in this quest, it goes for everything else in life which stretches itself to the mad limits in trying so desperately to make sense. Anything acting towards the object of expressing worth in itself and in that which finds itself underneath its piercing eyes is utterly futile to say the least. As the womb of all these senseless endeavors is the both puzzled and puzzling singularity of mind, everything that is born from it with the great expectation of unveiling any truth whatsoever on whichever question is fated to fall into the black, abysmal infinity of nothingness. For the bleak truth, if I may call it so, is that there is simply no possibility of any meaningful development or absolute answers in all of this. The mind is paradoxically its own horizon, ever so wanting to escape itself in its fanatical chase towards that tempting, but ever eluding edge! However, in austere contrast to this tragic drive towards complete self-annihilation stands the true nobility of the human being who expresses its suffering, frustrations and absurd experience in the pure and honest form of the Poetic! It is the poet who is the true artist of life, bearer of the eroding marks of apathetic nature, and the true creator of words that will bravely stand as an erected statue expressing the frail and beautiful heart and mind of the one and only human! In art breathes the real meaning of life, as it is an acceptance and powerful expression of the eternally unknowable. Art is the vital energy and warming relation we can hold on to as we struggle against this harsh, horrifying and pure beauteous beast of existence. I was born a poet, and will remain that poet until the day when death buries me into the rotten fertility of this earth…adieux you philosophical fool, viva the poetic! ------------ About the author Werner Reyneke: I am a 23 year old passionate writer/poet in my spare time and a computer programmer by proffession. Visit my website to see my first published book. I live in South Africa and have been published in a local newspaper (some poems in Haiku form) for the first time in February 2000. I have also been selected for publication in a VoicesNet Anthology (visit www.Voicesnet.org) and a Poetry.com (ILP Publishers) anthology called "Eternal Portraits"). Visit my website at: http://myweb.absa.co.za/wreyneke/Mybook.htm Email: wreyneke@absamail.co.za Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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