There is the frosting of affection, the absence of love and a vacuum of nexus.
There is no lasting friendship and water always finds its level.
Do not fool yourself with illusions of an eternal fraternity or fleeting love.
Let not your noble heart burn with desires of amity nor deceive it with loyalty built on the sandy beach.
For loyalty is a precatory word. It is designed to pacify the weak mind, reassure the shallow grave of reason and excuse the gormless.
It is a strange thing that life presents at times and on the judgment seat, who shall sit?
Mother Nature cares for none except her own and owes allegiance to no one but herself.
Self-preservation, therefore, is inherent and self-gratification, innate.
And though you search the deep and high, there are but few that will not adventure at your expense.
Give your feelings to no one if you must keep your heart. Do not wallow in the delusions of the grandeur of friendship.
Feather not your cap with the fleeting glory of union terse. And lose not your heart to anyone unless you are well acquainted with the repairs thereof and the bill, you can foot.
Expect nothing of anyone and disappointment absentia.
Give of your own and your heart if you must and are so inclined. But you must learn to let go and the attendant vision, keep indifferent.
For a good sense of duty is paramount and all else is burden imposing.
Render no one evil for evil and do not give vent to the bitter bile of disappointment. For good grace, let your affection lie in suspension deep or if you must, measure for measure.
Love if you must but without desire and live at peace with all if you can.
Extend the hand of friendship if you must, but, eschew familiarity and let the respectable distance attend. Above all, never appeal to the recalcitrant spirit of friendship or love.
Destroy not yourself with the exhibition of affection for it never returns.
When it does, it never endures. You must buy it to keep it and the payment never ends.
To your own self be true and deny yourself nothing desired if it lies in your power.
Flexible morality, however, is a slippery slope but build up no bile within and let the days of youth and carefreeness linger long.
When age attends you and the blood of life cools, let the passion of Narcissus endure with a searing heat.
Let them that will partake of your bread proclaim first their self-interest and swear no allegiance. Let not their flattering words, though seductive, dull your discerning senses.
Let him that will drink with you swear no oaths of loyalty because he that will be your friend today is, first, tomorrow’s undeclared enemy.
Share your water with he that seeks it and not just he that is thirsty. But share neither for reasons of loyalty nor love. For loyalty is a sham and friendship is an illusion.
Love itself is a confidence trick and thrives on the delusions of ignorance. It feeds on the vagaries of need and is sustained by the collective deception of man. In the great reckoning of things, you stand as an island, solitary and without friends.
All men labour for the desires of their own hearts and all hearts beat to the rhythm of their call. When the needs are met, the embers of affection no longer will smoulder.
The moment independence is discovered and self-interest invented, partnership becomes an oppressive burden.
All feet carry themselves and reluctance abounds but for the fetters that bind the torso.
For life and love are subjective and there is no permanence of joy in the company of men.
The gift of love is a cruel joke played on those cursed with a heart. The curse of love is a comedy in the courts of the celestial ones. For their amusement, we prance about the stage in constructive confusion. For their pleasure, we stub our toes against the cobblestones.
The attendant bruises, only you can feel. The undulating lisped dances of the bruised, all can see. Their mocking laughter, everyone can hear.
There is no permanence of joy and, life, exciting as it is, awaits the chill of your veins.
For in the midst of all that placate and enchant, the abundance of our hopes, multiplication and humiliation of our deceptions, the frugality of our joys and the persistence of the harsh realities of our lives,
In the array of self-gratifying nuances and diverging images of life
In the priggish Narcissian race and the tragedy of the display of Achilles’ heel,
In the animus of all that will pluck at the harps of the heart,
Vanity of vanities – all is vanity.
Bethel Erastus-Obilo Patewood Lines Copyright Reserved. June 2015