The philosopher is like an arrow cutting through the air.
or rather –
A snake slicing along the surface of a river.
The truth calls the philosopher.
But until it is found, she is like a pebble thrown into the water.
The wakes echoing forth, back and away in all directions, her presence the ripple for the moment, the significance like the rain drop, fades away in dissipation of the wash, while her self sinks and dissolves.
A transcendental nobility.
Yet before this and after, but never while,
The Truth is found, and the philosopher is pulled up the stream.
She does not sink, but swims, floats, slips, buoyant.
The shallow draft carries small value,
with purpose, with determination.
The truth calls. And called.
The opinions vary in the concentric interferences.
She is not distracted and never beached,
The swells and rapids only occasion her indecision and resolve.
The rocks interesting siestas.
The shore never beckons.
c.2017 Lance Allan Kair.
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