cult of beauty

a cult of beauty,
sublime is just a word,
a word which produces emotional states
of a particularly ridiculous and absurd nature,
evicting the human mind from its secure
residence inside the House of Reason,
more like an anchor around my ankle than a life raft

a snow covered bluff, a few barren trees,
burnt offerings,
perfumes, eau de cologne,
is this it? is that all there is?

it is the experience of the indeterminate,
leaping overboard into the boiling sea of romanticism,
it is fertile ground, lush, productive, abundant,
one where I am comfortable,
but never contented


but still the sublime remains tempting,
it is learning to live with the sublime in a manner that
permits the exploration of self-transcendence,
not so much of a question, no reality, no certainty,
as in pirsig’s exploration into the metaphysics of quality