Do I believe in superheroes? No, the older I have gotten, the more I have fallen in love with the idea that not the extraordinary or the supernatural has merely been imbued with human characteristics, rather the idea that within humanity lies the greatness. My heroes have always been real people.
Perhaps it is fitting that the best of our kind are so plagued with sadness, having seen so much of it themselves, the desire to inflict the same in those around them never truly takes root.
To be respected is to obtain mastery of the past, to be feared is to make ones domain of the future. To be both however, is to take command of the crossroads that between both past and future, the present.
He who is wise, is he who has surrendered himself to the eternal truths rather than fallen at the feet of the lies of our times.
If money was really a measure of mans worth, then why are not the temples and courts of the world staffed by accountants?
A miner and a writer are no different in many respects, journeying into the deep dark depths of the earth, the other of his soul. Both searching to bring something back from darkness to light.
Life it seems, at least in my understanding is not too different from the timeouts from my youth. Funny how the passing of those minutes in that corner felt like years, yet life is also measured in years. It is not something that is particularly enjoyed, just endured for the time being, like timeouts eventually it to shall come to pass.
Such was both the blessing and the curse of the dreamer, where others saw a word, he saw a book, where others a brush stroke he saw a painting, where others saw a boy he saw a great leader of men. He live in a world where others saw what is, yet he only saw what could be.