The Laborer of Word

The human spirit connecting with the universal presence comes in whispers in the thoughts.
It must be obeyed but not from fear of what might happen but more from the absolute fear of
what might not.

If it were not obeyed it could pass on forever and never be realized again.
That leaves an emptiness in its wake that pains the spirit of creativity and stunts its growth.
Creativity is as muscle. it needs work or it becomes listless and the whole spirit wanes.

The spirit is the life within you that makes the mundane tolerable.
To pass from day to day one must adopt patterns that allow continued interaction with society.
These develop, over time, necessarily as routines. Routines, to the creative mind, are like mazes of perpetual depletion of the spirit which drives creative life.
With no regeneration the spirit withers and eventually despairs into robotic redundancy.
No variation steals colors of the imagination and fades not even to black but to vapid gray.

This is death to the spirit.
Not extinction of the physical but akin to an inanimate device that will live on merely
to propagate monotony.
With this looming inevitability, the creative mind must regenerate continually
and in doing so, fulfills a need which enriches those around them as well as themselves with sustenance
every bit as vital as the nourishment provided from the labor of man in the fields of the good earth.

These fields of the spirit are where we employ our efforts daily to feed ourselves and more importantly,
our fellow man.
This is the fuel that propels one through the drudgery of societal necessity.
It therefore is nothing less than the duty of a laborer of word to obey that which comes to them in their private communions.

It is to this end we dedicate ourselves freely.

 

 

Written by Scott Schoffstall
© December 26, 2010
all rights reserved
Poetic Sojourn

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