The way the world ends

The Hollow Men - T.S. Elliot

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us — if at all — not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer –

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

I do not usually talk about myself, thoughts and dreams I have. Where my life is, where it is going.
In the words of Glowbug, from the illustrious author Steven Brust "There's no future in it."

I have a mug of tea here by my side, and I sit here staring at it, watching the steam rise from the lip of the red and black mug, the patterns it makes, chaotic, yet beautiful.
A metaphor for life. Steam.
Chaotic and beautiful, dangerous, yet when handled correctly, incredibly useful, powerful and beneficial to mankind.
Definitely a descriptor of life itself.
Life that is nurtured, encouraged and brought for into this world amazes me with it's vitality, the desire to do well and prove itself.
If you ever meet someone who just shines like a light when the only thing you have ever seen was darkness, you know what I am talking about.

Life that is neglected, hurt, injured and discouraged, can usually turn out well, but sometimes that life strays to a path much darker than was intended. Not necessarily dark as in evil, but a much harder path, no longer the easy swim through a viscous ocean, but the hard slog through motor oil, something that as you go through life, everything sticks to you and sticks with you, and other things stick to it, and by the time you are 70 or 80 years old, the weight on your figurative back is unbearably heavy.

Yet you continue to walk.
This is the nature of faith, I think.
I am not a man of God.
I am not a man of Religion.

My beliefs are my own, I have no doctrine, no need to convert anyone.
But I have faith.
My faith does not have to be in a god, demon, devil or thing. But faith in myself.
My faith is unrelenting.
My faith fills me when I have nothing left.
My faith drives me when I cannot go a step further.

I believe in myself.
I believe that there may be a god. I think that if he exists, he wishes me the best and wants me to love and enjoy my life, and bring happiness to others. I do not think he would want my belief, my devotion, or my prayer, but when I NEED those things, I think he would be willing to listen because he knows I pray and love as passionately as any other.
What else I believe in, is for me to choose. I love, hate, and cry as deeply as any Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Taoist or any other religious creed.
Am I less of a person because I do not fall under any of those labels?
Is my affection and love tainted by my lack of that label, is it somehow different from the love of someone of a certain labeled faith?
And interesting predicament.

Yet despite things, I preside in a state of contentment.
There are times of
Happiness
Sadness
Love
Hate
Enlightenment
Nothingness
Creativity
Apathy

These times make up the sum of a human being (for all the math geeks out there, sure, you can toss in a few fractions, but lets look at this from an idea of Relativity)
There are things to my life I want to change, people I want to include more deeply into my life, and some I want out of it.
Yet while we, as humans, change things, as no other creature on this earth does.
We cannot alter the path of the steam, we can direct it, have it flow in the direction we want, but eventually, it goes up and out, and comes to an end.
What matters then, is whether the tea left over, is good enjoy to be enjoyed after the steam is gone.