He had not bothered to examine himself, to ask or know. He lived separate from all and practised mammon and thrift to the exclusion of all else. This wasn’t a matter of soul and had you asked if he had one, he would have laughed. All he believed in were the old lies and easy orthodoxy, following paths others made before him. In numbers, there were safety and the sureness of no humiliation or embarrassment. He would never stand out, have a real crisis or know angst. His life was measured in calendars, clocks, bank accounts and appearances. He seldom risked and always limited himself and others repeatedly, always did the socially correct thing. As he aged, he felt some missing pieces, but never questioned purpose–was without one, in fact. As he lay in his last room, he came to the conclusion that there was none and nothing else of consequence in his life, that the world he knew would certainly end with his passing.
(FWIW/. I believe the female Socrates felt much the same.)

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply