Death is no violation of life. We experience little deaths all through life. Death feeds life, and life death, because they aren’t really separate.
Zarathustra stepped out of Plato’s cave to face the music of the spheres of influence. He saw straw men building houses of cards. Paper tigers were prowling the silver lining around the clouds. Many hands were making light work whilst too many cooks spoiled the broth. It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel, a piece of cake. But, in the land of the blind, this one eyed man was a freak, a problem as old as the hills. That Sisyphus has abandoned his stone to gather moss was a clue he was embarking up the wrong tree. Close but no cigar.
So, back to the drawing board, the square one, as there was no sense in bending over backwards to beat a dead horse. The chip on his shoulder rendered his holding of dark horse dreams as counted chickens before hatching. After getting off on the wrong foot, he decided to find his feet in order to go out on a limb. He’d need to go the extra mile to go for broke. So he found a green room and worked the graveyard shift, making sure he didn’t lose his head as he ground his axe. Suddenly, he hit the nail on the head. He would go out on the town, over the top, paint the town red, the whole nine yards, like a headless chicken, until the cows come home. He’d turn a blind eye to any that tried to steal his thunder. It would be water under the bridge! Wearing his heart on his sleeve, he came around after going around under the weather up a blind alley. His gut feeling knew the taste of his own medicine. He’d had his slap on the wrist and being a loose cannon had cost him an arm and a leg. At the drop of a hat and against the clock, after being stuck in a vicious circle between a rock and a hard place and biting off more than he could chew, he went on a wild goose chase with all his eggs and hell in a handbasket. It was possible to let sleeping dogs lie and let the cat out of the bag. It was the final straw. He kicked the bucket.
Excuse my French but, this cock and bull story was a feeding frenzy on everything but the kitchen sink. Make no bones about it, there was method in this madness even if you think it was Mumbo-Jumbo. Whether you are long in the tooth, a new kid on the block or not playing with a full deck, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’ve run out of steam and the ball is in your court.