Contractions of opposites..

Grief, where frustration meets surrender. The frustration of losing my brother feeling like a solid ice-cube slowly slipping through my grip as it melts and runs into the drain of infinite mourning, it’s a non-material slice of meaning, a conflict of substance vs immortality, a drowning coinciding with life, a magnification of the significance to adjustment, a refurbishment in the adaptability of purpose, a fluid movement into the passages of time which eventually slaps you out of the monotony of life, and plunges you into a realism of possibilities, constraints and consequences, a reshaping of appreciation, an application of strength through weakness, the grief becoming a paradox, and expanding in proportion to its opposite, the giver of joy lives inside grief and vice versa.

Balancing on a tightrope between emptiness and fullness, the nihilistic tendencies dancing with faith and purpose, all the philosophies true in their own right, but conflicting when joining forces, the total human experience being a contradiction unto itself.. and we can only know a thing through the genuine experience of its opposing nature.

Outside mortality exists, but no human exists without the impending death of the material, and it is the only guarantee in life, living and dying a true reflection of cyclical nature, the patterns mirroring chaos inside of order. Scientific and mystic at opposite ends of the scale, both true, both serving a purpose, both needed, for mind and for soul, the scientific for logic, the mystic for soul, and the philosopher for truth, which binds all three. Philosophers encase a bounty of acrobatics inside the mind, twisting and turning each angle of a prism, expanding and shining light on the rainbow of possible truths, the prism harbouring an array of colours, the philosopher inspecting each one, countless theories appear to each angle and colour, the metaphor tying the dialogue into coherence, poetry polishing the diamond in the rough, displaying a vision of the inner world through the prism of colours bought out by logic and soul.. the fusion of both bring depth to a world of surface.. And so the living is found in the knowing of its opposite, and so Joy is found in the knowing of grief..

The poet dissects his awareness, the philosopher inspects each section, the alchemist transmutes the findings..

~Leya Hunter.