Ben Bussewitz
Philosophy Paper
February 2025
A Way of
Writing in Sand
People
search, wonder, stumble upon, discover, and sometimes it comes true. Love, meaning, and truth to all that they
inquire upon and see in terms of that which is loving meaningful, and
true. Beyond the river blue. Open horizons in any direction
everywhere-wide and narrow and straight, right on through; and then they shout
from above the mountaintop sunrise, within the light of their pretty blue or
green or sunflower jasper hazel eyes, thank goodness for the azure blue
brimming with sediments-of-the-cascading pink and rose-unto-silver violet and
Mozart-royal and Beethoven-cue, right on cue. And as they shine out their colors, all the
colors spin and then they slant and fall down in every direction. Wherever they go, the light is shining. It shines right on through. It shines in every direction. It shines in every color too. In all there is,
there is white light, grey, and sequin, shouting out and brimming, sequoias of
life and liturgy turning forth in time and vibing with the bright vibrant
vibrations of all they are and want to be for their best wishes, hopes, and
dreams.
That
is to say: when one looks at life a certain way, in cylindrical retrospect, in
the hope they turn forth unto their sequences of transpiring events, from the
beginning of their life unto where they stand, with their hope that is as great
as Luther Jr. looking beyond the mountaintops, beyond the rooftops of the sky,
as diligent and heartfelt as Malcolm’s by-any-means’ categories of flavor in
the blue-cloud-nimbus, as far forward as the entreaties of the building-block
civilizational hills, beyond all categories, in the wholeness of sound and
color and taste and touch, as it fills up the life of, as Ghandi wisely puts
it, the children of God, and as I extend that metaphor, the children of God,
or, the people of the third planet away from the sun, when looking within to
the life surrounds, and the whishing-and-whispering wind and moments, one can
see, as she or he reflects in the pleasant calmness of introspection with one’s
clear pretty blue or green or sunflower jasper eyes, the way of one’s life is
that she or he is, in the core of who the person is, all their central momentum
of all the person has understood forever— that she or he is aiming to carry out
goodness in terms of objective truth, meaning, and love, and they are carrying
that out selflessly, even at moments that might trip them up, even at moments
in which they get a little out of hand, get a little tongue-in-cheek, lose her
or his best interest, the individual is momentarily found in the home of
wanting to be good in some way or some other, and this is well-understood. Aristotle, a man who lived before I was even
a kid— he incisively stated that happiness and the good are that for which all
interactions, decisions, and thoughts of humankind are aimed. People aim to do good things, whether it is
directly or indirectly, laden with goodness or benign, whether laughing to the
bank or chasing their way in rhymes.
In other words: the way in which all things are well-understood is in the all-knowing eye of truth. The Sphinx has that. I do too. So can you! And you can for song and dance, or whatever floats the bubble to the water well-fed in the kindly fragrant, gladly esteemed color of you.
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