Nature's Mysterious Beauty.

It's a mysterious thing.
The moon, so common that it approaches the mundane, yet so mysterious... so mystical.
It can invoke fear and awe, and has done so again for me.
Whitnessing a phenomenon such as "Moon Dogs" while the moon is at apogee and in it's fullest phase is a sight beyond words.
I'm not a fearful man, but indeed it struck a chord of fear to my heart.
Yet, upon controlling the urge to run, I gazed upon it's beauty and reminisced of old.


It's an odd thing, doubt. I use it as a humbling tool, perhaps. But far too often it seems. I proclaim this not in arrogance, but in it's apparent truth. I have become perfect. It's no great accomplishment, as one might imagine, but I have done it. I can do no wrong... And that bothers me. I'm reminded of a title of a play that our high school performed: "Great, you're perfect. Now change." I never saw it, but the title struck me as highly ironic. Perhaps this is a phase, but my doubts that I have to create for an illusory humbleness are always incorrect to what I really feel. And my friends and family re-affirm that at every passing. I so wanted to be wrong, but in this case I am not. In this case the world shouts with me, to be recieved by deaf ears. Alas, those that have fallen to never rise again. Perhaps, if what I hypothesize is correct, then I am made perfect by the follies of those I seek to regain. The universe is a balance, so if they are the premier example of wrong at this point, then why shouldn't I be that of perfection? But then I ask myself: "What makes me worthy? Why me and not someone else?"

In answering that question, a great deal would be learned.

I find much in common with those of legend. The heroes of old, and the greats of myth and legend. But where is my adventure? Where is my foe? I suppose that I have taken the world, the norm, and society as my foe. But It cannot be vanquished. Perhaps that is the adventure. I maintain that my delusions of grandure are surmised by my wish to be like those of myth and legend. To be like those of fiction. But perhaps that's the point of being the vanguard of good, you must exist in myth and legend to exact changes upon reality. You must yourself be surreal, in order to change the real... the norm.

Perhaps...