When did we stop looking at the stars?
When did we cease to wonder what’s behind our minds?
When did we start admiring the knowledge of ribosomes, penicillin and black holes more than the Wisdom of living a good life?
After all, don’t we still die today?
Don’t we still hurt today?
Is poverty not still massive?
When did we choose to be machines?
When did our fears become our reason for living?
When did our guilt drive us away from God?
Back to the Cave we have gone, willingly
But Plato, still alive, reminds us of the sun outside
They say his writing is very dry
Dry like all that is old from our past
Disconnected, as if from another world
And us? Bombarded by our senses
Desperate for movement in our brains
Too fast to appreciate anything that does not jump our neurons from place to place
Focus!
It is important
That other world holds the key
Its pace, its advantage
It looked at the stars
It thought about depth
It was made of people, just like us, but slower, and wiser
What is today’s world but a constructed reality?
A place where toys are taking us into a deeper and deeper fiction
What is the past? Our escape from ourselves
