Yeah, how many roads must a man walk on before expectations materialize that he becomes one with the spirit of awakening? For that matter how many furlongs need to be covered to awaken to one’s being. Dasein. Must we allow modernity to tame us, certainly neuter/sequester us to give in? Should we be keeping a patch of wilderness alive for our numbered days?
In wildness is the preservation of the world. —Henry David Thoreau
The answer is a blowin’ in the wind—the whoosh of a fist looming toward the face.
In idiomatic vein: we come to blows over long embraced pet peeves; whereas in idiomatic veneer some gain an identity, with one blow. Furthermore lugubriously striking blows at the indigents. Sledge hammering their way through time!
Being driven astray is a wildering—an estrangement that deposits us into that cauldron of uncertainty. Wilder bewilders.
Wild thing you make my heart sing you make everything groovy.
—Wild Thing, by The Troggs. We add our choice of veneer to our lives, mindlessly covering up tarnish with varnish. Garnishing never really helps when the core is rotten.
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