Confusion, Perhaps, Redux

Once again, I wrote and wrote and pondered and pondered, only to decide I was embroiled in a meaningless exercise with absolutely no value. So, instead, I will re-post something I wrote ten years ago:


Confusion, Perhaps

It begins as a whisper, faint and indistinct.  But it grows incrementally, almost imperceptibly, louder with the passage of time.  The amount of time varies with each whisper and every ear.  Eventually, though, the whisper becomes a voice and the voice becomes a scream and the scream becomes an obsession.

And the obsession becomes a passion.  And the passion becomes a regret.

That having been said, here’s what Kierkegaard had to say about something else entirely:

The greatest hazard of all, losing one’s self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all.
~ Søren Kierkegaard

I am not a follower; I just like some of the quotes attributed to him, including this one. And the one following:

What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.
~ Søren Kierkegaard

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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