And thereby came a gentle winter.
We walk these fields, traverse these snow drifts, run our eyes along the delicate breaks in lines that give away – perhaps betray – the shapes that lie below. As far as the vision can stretch, there is only the span of more and no visible limitation to the greatness of this plain. I have been here for a while.
Out here, there exists a sort of nothingness. And, in that vacuum, a sort of everythingness – the sheer promise of our own fabrication.
And it’s not enough. It’s never enough, in this way, to get by.
We expected worse – a further onslaught; a more biting cold; some pain – and yet here we find ourselves, alone and almost bored at the sheer silence of our own pursuits.
It is not enough to do the work or to simply love; to extend from ourselves a degree of energy or aspiration, out into the void, our simplified version of how we’ve interpreted another thing outside ourselves – a place, a thing, a being. An idea. A principle. A value.
This is not to say that one viewpoint, for the world, is more or less correct – that, when cast to sea or set to popular vote, one of these things has more rightness, and that we are compelled to run our own lives up against it and see how it pans out. Certainly, this evaluation can be done – one can subject our own principles to the masses. But we can only do so as means of compromise between their differences by way of sacrifice; as means of carving from both so that neither can stand whole. It cannot be done as means of proving “rightness.” In the world of such a void, there is none.
The truth is, few dedicate any real attention to considering the most important questions. Few even venture this far out into the fields. The more you do, the farther you’ll stray, the less you’ll want to bump it back up against them, and the less, to be honest, that you should.
On the contrary, the more you spend considering these questions, the farther you will go from the common, the closer you yourself will get to your own rightness – of mind, of action, of thought. Ultimately, your own principles are truest to the version of the world that matters most – that being your own.
The best you can do, with any certainty, is set out and go looking; to stare off across the snow, and move on toward your own something.
But the most you can hope for is to find someone out here on their own accord, gauging the sun, the snow, and the brilliance in much the same way.