I'm Not Impressed

I'm not impressed.

I admire the honest simpleton, the man who says he doesn't know and doesn't think he could understand if he tried. I admire the fatalist, the man who doesn't care and doesn't think it would make a difference. I admire the preoccupied, the man who says he may care some day, but, for now, he has bigger priorities. I admire the hedonist, the man who thinks only of pleasure and prioritizes his own. I admire the psychotic, the man who is consumed by and fascinated with chaos. I admire the sociopath, the man who has no empathy. I admire the pure coward, the man who plainly refuses to face any challenge.

I'm not impressed with these faux-wise, self-consumed, word-heavy, thought-empty, culture-regurgitating cowards.

A friend of mine said – among a number of other arts – that the art of argumentation is dying. Until the planet is swathed in restorative, righteous conflagration, no art will ever truly be dead. (Then, for the first time in a long time, the arts will finally be truly alive.) The arts are not measured by the number of hearts in which they glow. Rather, the arts are measured by the cumulative vivacity with which they reverberate. One God-fearing individual – even with the loss of all others – could sustain the arts in his or her humble heart.

Setting aside magnitude, yes, the frequency of the arts is dying, argumentation et al. Recalling that it only takes one candle to pierce the darkness, the arts shine brightly.

I would posit that they shine even brighter than before. The contrast makes certain hearts shine more clearly. Still more so, certain hearts have risen higher to counterbalance the waves of darkness that seek to stifle truth. There are fewer, but they shine all the more brightly.

With the term "arts," I am speaking synecdochially (I don't think that's a word, but it totally should be). I am speaking of a part to represent the whole. When I say "arts," I include minds, faiths, humilities, honesties, truths, courages, and so many more.

The arts are less frequent; those hearts in which they remain are brighter.

I am impressed by the few beacons that remain, struggling to understand the darkness, struggling to navigate the darkness, struggling to dispel the darkness.