Caedmon Comma

My son,

Beware of "meaning," if you have the means. It robs us of something - something that is real and true. It changes us and recreates us. We morph into citizens of some universe composed of (Im)possibility. Meaning makes us slaves of desire and addicts to ambition. 

When we are defined by meaning, we are defined by the moment that is not yet, while the moment before is shrouded in regret. That shroud is composed of material that is not real, my son. It is an illusion of the Meaning that robs, that pilfers our moments. 

I must tell you - warn you - that I will care very much about your meaning. I've been well trained. I can't help it. I'll use horrible words like success and failure, as if you are some investment.  But you will be wise enough to overcome. 

 

Please teach me some better way.  Guide me on a path that I have never traversed. Help me as I travel toward a meaningless end and uncertain destination. 

I love you. 

I mean it.