The origins of
what we call madness:
the infinite
potential, born beautiful
in every being,
every balance of heartbeat and mind,
surging in every
child.
The same excess
that makes us
marvelous and
remarkable, creative and kind,
sacred and silly,
giving and glorious,
wild and wise and
wonderful.
It is born in all
of us, differently
and divergingly; the cosmic principle
burns more hotly
in some than others.
In thousands of
small actions and inactions
of fear, or envy,
or pride, or regret, or repression,
the infinity of
the individual is bordered,
channeled,
corralled, enclosed,
this deemed
necessary: to tame the wild
chance of being
human, to domesticate
the danger of the
child's beauty
(for in the beauty
of every child is that plasma of infinity
which can turn the
world upside down).
Dams are built,
walls and towers constructed
to control the
uncontrollable nature within us.
The forests of
inspiration are clearcut by the chainsaws of instruction,
the oceans of
prophecy are acidified by the hurricanes of profit-seeking,
the visionary
deserts are paved with prefabricated virtues.
A system to bind
the mind, a mirror of a system that binds the body.
When a storm
strikes against the walls, they are reinforced, built higher,
the inner cosmos is confined at all costs,
so hearts and
minds become the froth
in the surging
waves, beating against their boundaries,
the child the
patient the inmate is locked up deeper,
and the ledger of
unlived life piles higher.
These are the
origins of what we call madness,
surging the same
as the stars and the springtime,
feared with reason
in our winter of civilization's discontents.
by QMS, May 16, 2016
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