it is obvious that one should not presume to question the virtue of the sea.
yet, she does not punish the wicked and reward the righteous—
she would fain swallow humble fisherman and irreverent pirates alike.
let us consider her most insidious creatures.
she does not command the Leviathan to obedience,
and at this we rejoice in horror and call it nature!
one does not presume to question the virtue of masterpieces like Guernica.
yet, was it not rage that inspired the hand of Picasso?
should we not be appalled at this apparent malignancy?
instead, we rejoice in horror and call it art!
why is it that in regard to the soul,
one retracts in disgust at its imperfections.
what is so ignominious about nature’s reflection in humanity?
it would seem that we have labored relentlessly to retain our blindness in order to enjoy an almost inconceivable obedience to virtue;
it would seem that we have burdened ourselves unnecessarily through the pretense of being able to consider our soul a lofty and strictly pure substance.
might not it be reasonable to observe our soul with the same nuanced perspective as with nature and art?
instead of good and evil, to look upon our soul as unbounded potential;
lighter and darker shades of unknown?
why not rejoice in horror at the soul?
[ photo: Guernica by Pablo Picasso, 1937 – photo by Elliott Erwitt ]