The Island As Ones Forever Recollection

No man is an island, Entire of itself. (J. Donne)

It is so often that we ponder over ourselves as numerous and solipsistic atoms, but such
rare is the thought upon the legacies we represent. Would it not be that we tend to forget that
power the environment has over all the aspects of ones self? And our environment is truly an
environment of persons. Every mans notion of liberty is his sentiment of liberty. That is the
reason of our considerations that seek to defy all influences, that urge to embrace that
magnificent mirage of I.
Some may revolt against our judgement, but show me that man which has all his deeds
fulfilled without an intimate feeling of liberty in absolute. And then again, make me fellow with
him who reveals no trace of what we would deem to be our motives and obscure determinations.
There is not to be found such a man.
As long as our mind will act unshireveled in its most essential desire to obtain the
possible cause of things as they are, we are destined to fail in our freedom. For we are not entire
of ourselves. We are a part of the main. Or, at most, the main is but a part of ourselves. No man
is a god. He is God as a whole. But being a whole, he would require such infinite parts, the
angels and the Heavens, his empire. We all seem to be thrown amongst the premises of a society,
with no right to ever evade; as God will ever be foregone with its all-around. And they who
would strive to escape, will end up as cast away beasts, says Aristotle. For no man is a god.
Every citizen, be it a citizen of the Universe, carries in their citizenships heart their city.
The doctrines, the policies of nature and conduct, become nature and conduct tale quale. We are
doctrinary beings. And when we find ourselves teaching, are we not the ones that preach what
theyve been taught? It is a matter unsolvable as long as we will never acknowledge the
singlemost solution: I am the feeling of others in myself. Though I may conceive my distance
from ingenious, I am ingenious. For my heart cries all ingenuity; I am ingenious!

*
In the forgotten eve, the Ancient Greece, there were the men of undermining reason:
incontinent in spirit, such lustful in their lust. They set no limits in their judgement, they
challenged the unsolvable to ever proclaim it as it is: apart from the conceivable. They were the
skeptics. We cannot believe in love, we cannot proclaim identities, nor God and things called
holy! But we do love, we do cry for another ones help, we do possess a holiness within, that
we may never believe, yet never distrust. With the aid of their tragedy, we came upon the eternal
boundary between sentiment and reason. Thus, we ought to judge all that is through this regretful
duality, for we often think in a manner that provokes the heart, however, acting in its temper.
We may not be an island. Still, there is no sense of empathy in the world. Whereas I
define myself as a reclusive subject, acknowledging my lack in understanding another ones
benefit, I will become that singular existence my loneliness my garment. I may but see the
ocean ever pervading, the premises of protection yielding to its sweeping. Every man is an
island! That island is myself, that every man is I
Nevertheless, we do sense the horizon. Several islands spring from amongst the waters
and come forth: another man. A blink of generosity is the expected enough. We encounter his
beholdingness, his burden, with our fellowships delight and rejoice him through the years. His
portrait is ours, his mirror-like conduit, our loves proportion. We seem to understand the
commonwealth of people through this peculiar example of gratified existence: we are alike!
Were it not for empathys forgetfulness, we would bear till the upcoming dissolution a
legion of despairs. Our certify: despondency and crime. It is for our best interest to seek the
upright partnership in battle. Offering ones gratitude is assuring ones army. Loves confusing
perfume is but the forfeit of a Jove. Descending from the highest peaks, full of icy resentment,
you are to find bestowment in the arms-around. Finally, you salute the likeness of men, bound to
reconsider all that is similar. Gesture, thought, desire, is all a share of mankind.
No man is an island. Only if it were so! But as the passing-by releases harvest, age,
doubt ensues victoriously. Both love and distaste, in infinite succession. Where should I find my
coverage, where, my enemy. Unending in my strife, must I reconcile they never were; I am my
coverage, my enemy.