Within my limited field of vision I saw a blank piece of black paper. With no one around I decided to write upon it. In white ink, I scrawled a line from Paradise Lost:
[...] But, if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield:
For solitude sometimes is best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return. (Milton, Book 9)
The paper became sordid and my glance upon it began to burn. Milton's line came from a part of me that I rarely ponder, yet always act upon. This solitude he speaks of cannot be held for long, for as Aristotle noted, man is a social animal. So the fault lies in the machine, and daily the fault spreads to incorporate the standing and the fallen consecutively.
Herein lies the difficult trial of Step Three:
"If there are none on the road I walk and I fall down, to whom can I look for balance?"
[...] But, if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield:
For solitude sometimes is best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return. (Milton, Book 9)
The paper became sordid and my glance upon it began to burn. Milton's line came from a part of me that I rarely ponder, yet always act upon. This solitude he speaks of cannot be held for long, for as Aristotle noted, man is a social animal. So the fault lies in the machine, and daily the fault spreads to incorporate the standing and the fallen consecutively.
Herein lies the difficult trial of Step Three:
"If there are none on the road I walk and I fall down, to whom can I look for balance?"
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