How to name it?

The map I hold is not the roads I roam. Those who feel that the gap is merely very difficult to bridge are men/women with purpose. For the landmarks I sight are the destinations I want to reach, and makes me believe that that the universe can be simultaneously apprehended at once. It makes me leap from recognition to recognition and my ingenuity bridges the gap creatively to apply my principles. I become self-obsessed and congratulatory and it is perfectly plausible that happiness becomes my second nature. For I am no longer incapacitated by the enormity of what I see, only my mechanism of selection is much stronger than the awe of the unknown.


Then there are differentiators, those that seperate the being from the knowing - Living the drama and understanding it share a mutex relationship, for both cannot be apprehended simultaneously without destroying the purity of their essence in isolation. And then we could laugh at each other, for emotions, for fears, for their unknowns. And life at once becomes merry, buzzing, and between all the mutual explosions we seemed to have found the harmonious universe, teeming with contradictions constantly resolving themselves like the melting ice - serving just the right purpose. I know my universe then, and become its non-physical center, perhaps even able to spin some universes on their axis at will and I breed gravity, as everything that looks at me closely enough falls to me, either to crash, or do the waltz at a safe distance. Everything becomes real, alive, colored and bright. I ignore the shadows while basking in the glory of light. Yet when I am tired, and before I sleep, there is a minute when I introspect, amazed that I beautify everything I touch, and everything I dont. It is in that minute, that I invent my dreams and rearrange my furniture for a better living. And what spills from my brimming claudron, simmering on heat, becomes my art, my signature, an alternate identity that I cant hide.


Sometimes when the malice touches the melting point, it flows as hope. Block the flow and it settles down as acceptance, let it flow and it covers just enough ground to lose its identity. And then we have names for all that grows from its carcass.