Those who celebrate 'greatness' must first presume an understanding of
'greatness'. In the end, no man or condition is great, rather it is
others who claim this stature as a reflection of themselves. And
here the individual joins with process. He belongs, becomes part of
the river of adjectives.
The 'great' minds, that I so
admire, are sometimes enfeebled. I picture them in the theater,
distributing idea, in the way that a leader might. This thought,
they will say, is well-conceived. This thought, they will say, is
ill-conceived. And the distinction will always allude to
process. It will allude to that joining necessary to the complexity
that is us, and, to the complexity that is idea in a material world.
But new is not made this way. New
belongs to 'creative is'. And so long as mind is informed by process,
'creative is' ceases. The idea then becomes no more than a top,
whipped into spinning endlessly by long words, longer sentences, and by the
comfort of obedience.
Leave me with my illusions. The
mind and a brick wall. Let me think of it as an aedicule, alone in
space. Let me occasionally bump into it, and say
"hello". This way there are no building blocks, and I can
float amongst clouds of understanding without ever falling to the earth.
The anxious might call me indolent.
But the anxious require the safe place, and so their compromise is an
enslavement to process. Were I a brave man I would call them dullards,
but I am wiser than that, so instead I will thank the anxious for whom
'greatness' is purpose. This way adjectives become real, and for a
while people are happier.