The Moon and Aphrodite

A beautiful world is a comforting thought, until you allow yourself the luxury of comparing that thought to our present reality, at which point the phrase “beautiful world” suddenly becomes a cruel mockery of our lives, and possibly a source of paralyzing cynicism. The danger of “idealism,” then, lies in its potential to eviscerate the will to live by making all hope appear foolish, by way of contrast.

Better, then, lest we snip the delicate thread that has pulled the soul along this far, to na├»vely accept the dark foreboding of the practical “is,” without illusions — but also therefore without cynicism. For darkness as such is only frightening because it reveals the absence of light, which awareness in itself reminds us that there was light, from which, in turn, we learn that no darkness, however complete, is ever absolute. The idea of beauty remains in the cosmos for those who choose to follow the soul’s essential impetus towards eternity, rather than allowing themselves to become mired in hopeless dread of the treacherous but infinitely transitory darkness.

Let the purveyors and champions of the darkness be the cynical ones. Their lust for power and destruction is nothing but a self-revelation of their infinitesimal smallness. They have utterly trapped themselves in time and matter, which is to say in their fearful illusions of darkness without respite. No harsher fate is possible or necessary for them.


The moon mocks our fools,
Laughing that beyond all nights,
Aphrodite rules


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