Neitzschean Ethics

Self-mastery is the root of all morality. To be controlled by neither external influences or internal compulsions, but rather to draw up a vision of who it is you want to be, and then to bring this vision to fruition. Which is not to say that the ethical man does not consider what these external and internal sources communicate to him, but they cannot dictate what it is he is supposed to do or be, only he can determine this. It does not matter that this vision of yourself changes over time, so long as the purpose of achieving it in oneself is maintained. And no pursuit undertaken in this manner should be regretted, even if it is later rejected in favor of a new goal, so long as it is performed in earnest. It is a part of you and the ground upon which you continue to the self. The only thing that should be regretted is the cowardice and laziness that prevents us from the earnest pursuit and achievement of our transformative vision.

The ethical man is an artist. And it is the canvas of the self upon which he works his art. A dull and unimaginative image is unworthy of an artist and must be rejected in favor of something that can capture the soul and essence of what it is to be alive and human, vital and imaginative. Each brush stroke must be bold and unhesitant, without a trace of regret or timidity. Each act is not a possible error, but an opportunity to explore some new avenue of thought or expression, a moment of discovery, whether it be of the self or of the world within which we are situated. This self-artist must be free to make these discoveries, which must mean that he is free from the constraints of habituation, whether it be the habit of society or the habit of the self, for both are well trod and known, and thus no longer fruitful for the type of discovery and creativity the artist needs. Only the fearful take refuge in the safety of the known, and no artistry can come from fear, for fear cannot express itself in any way but conformity and monotony, and it knows not beauty or inspiration.


Friends

I wake and greet the rising sun and the rising sun wakes to greet me with the same prodigious light that shines on the righteous and the wicked. I rise and welcome the morning rain and the morning rain welcomes me in return with the gentle clap of a thousand drops ungrudging in their gift.


Sunday

I don’t know what I’m doing here Sunday after Sunday.  It drags on and on with no apparent end or purpose other than to pacify the fears of Hyang.  Every week, I come into this building wishing I wasn’t here, hating the circumstances that trap me in this pattern of outward religiosity. But the costs


Home

The cold winds of winter blow across the dry, sunlit plains Of this wide endless prairie which a lonely few call home


Tomorrow’s memories

Raindrops slowly fall With tomorrow’s memories Dreaming without end


The Tears That Wet My Face

Translucent pearls hung on a tightly woven thread The craft of a spiders singular cunning on display The tears of a melancholy morning shimmer in the light A ray of light once gold, turned grey, worn and worried Thick clouds bound together deny the sky its hue Downcast with the heavy burden borne on winter’s


Religion

Why is religion so important to us?  Why does itself so tightly to our essence, to the point where its excision leaves us bloodied and raw.  Because it tells us things we would not otherwise know.  It reveals the secrets of the deep, and sheds a light on the darkness that its truths may be