The sun was suffering the last of its Sisyphean disappointments as The evening was cool; as I walked

onto the deck, the chill dew coatinged my feet and causinged me to release a brief, involuntary shiver. .
As I stood looking out over the lawn and I couldn't help but equate my prospects to the green expanse in
front of me: static, uninteresting, and only superficially satisfying.
It had been a long week. Hell, it had been a long month, a long year - my optimism regarding the future,
once so unassailable, had atrophied without surcease, leaving me mentally spiritually exhausted. I had
often been calledlabelled a dreamer, and enjoyed the labeltitle, as if it entitled me to membership in an
exalted fellowship of individuals whose substance was of a more noble character than the pragmatic
drudges who concerned themselves only with mMatters aAs tThey aAre. What a horrid existence, I had
always thought, to never dream of anything greater, to entertain imagine no improvements or
shouldsshoulds;, to inhabit exist in a world where "idealist" is a dirty word...how I hated those who
looked at life as a contest to be won, embracing the status quo as defense against Reason and Justice,
the belief in which was viewed as a unique and particularly enslaving narcotic (one that produced a
debilitating illness known as conscience). I envisioned myself fighting the good fight against the solipsism
that so enmeshed those around me, a seductive tyrant that had convinced them, in true panglossian
fashion, that this was truly the best of all possible worlds and that everything happened for a reason
(Chance played no part in their lives, these unintentional Calvinists!). it was easy to believe such, when
youth makes each day new with promise. I spent years lived my life always cataloguing seeing
necessary improvements in all things,, expect myself, until the very act of observation became a
principled stand and any participation in the greater world involved a tragic and untenable sacrifice of
moral scruples. By removing myself from the hurly-burly of life, I could better appreciate the fatal flaws
that inhabited the system while asserting my own superiority as a Visionary, one who refused to sacrifice
my integrity for fleeting pleasures. How easy it was to believe such, when youth makes each new day
bright with promise, and the realities of life are only a speck on the horizon, barely seen and easily
ignored.
As the dwindling . Now,light sent silent figures capering on the lawn, I felt insubstantial, a shadow that
would soon dissolve with nothing to mark older my passingthan I . Older than I remember being, the
night air becamewas oppressive; the weight of bad decisions and missed opportunities stifling all hope in
the gelid air. in the gelid air.
As
I stood, warming myself against the elements with the wrapped in the warm, familiar blanket of self-pity,
when Ia slowly became aware of a sound in the distance, echoing whispering through the hushed whisper
of amid the willows and pines. At first it was indistinct, a sonorous trill almost out of earshot, but as I
waited it became louder and louder (in answer, I believed, to my silent, motioness attention). A
nightingale! Though I always thought of myself as possessing a deep and abiding love of the natural word
I must admit to a city-bred squeamishness when it came to the details. In addition to a long-standing fear
of parasitic insects, poisonous plants, and rampant disease; I had often been bothered by the sounds of
birds, the incessant chattering, sqwaking, and nagging auditory interjections that seemed most frequent in
the late night and early morning periods. Perhaps the sonorous melancholy was in tune with my mood,
for, but this birds song I found was quite beautiful. I remembered then, my Professor in animal behavior
lecturing us on the quality and utility of bird songs "You will never listen to them in the same light, once you know what they mean". He went on to educate
us on the characteristic call of eachs species, and how they were used, almost universally, to ward off
potential predators, attract mates, or mark territorial claims. This information was not a stunning revalation
- anyone familiar with the operation of animal life could have made these deductions if forced to explain
mating...etc; yet the news did re-cast our vision. Modern man tends to view the natural world as an
immersive garden, cultivated for our benefit. We find the music of birds pleasing, so in our mind assumes
that they have been fashioned to be this way for our benefit. Vistas and flowers are beautiful - why? They
could easily seem misshapped and crude to our eyes - if they are beautiful, that alone is reason to
assume that they are made beautiful for our benefit...this solopsitic thinking lies at the heart of who we
are.

Later on discuss the transition from disillusionment to beauty with a change in perception.