Conscious Of Self

Duration

3:17

Genres

Spoken Word/Perf. Poetry

Description

Lyrics

Massive pine trees... I'm drifting through the forest at a crawling pace. The night sky is covered in a blanket of stars... innumerable stars that give the atmosphere a depth unlike anything I've seen. A campfire in the distance illuminates the trees; a welcoming glow that spreads as it inches nearer. As I come to a small clearing, I see a young man... a simple man, with undeniable character and wisdom written on his face. His prominent nose hooks downward, and the shadow from his brow buries his deep-set eyes, leaving just a glint. They are blue... somehow I know. He sits quietly by the fire, taking notes in a leather bound book. A cabin rests among the trees behind him with a single lantern glowing in the window. It's peaceful... natural. The man stops writing to consider something. He looks up, staring right at me... HDT: Abandon waste and illusion to discover life's true essential needs. His focus returns to the notebook; writing with purpose and diligence. HDT: Most of the so-called comforts of life are dispensable... hindrances to the elevation of mankind. I begin to see him for what he is. A moral man living in harmony with nature... someone with a true understanding of living deliberate... living truth. Taking only what he needs and satisfied with the simplicity of what life is. He is a pure example of a transcendentalist... self-reliant and far removed from the corruption that society and its organizations impart. This is how life should be... He continues writing in his notebook, and speaks without looking up. HDT: Squirrels provide a great service to the economy of the universe. I stare at him; not fully understanding. HDT: Abandoned seeds give new opportunities for life. He stands up and dusts off his rugged trousers; then drops his notebook and walks back toward the cabin. I stare at the notebook laying the grass; the fire light dancing across its pages. HDT: It is a fool who starts a fire and doesn't reap its benefits... and I was once a fool. I look up, but the man has already disappeared into the shadows of the night. A soft breeze blows through the pines, rustling the pages of the notebook and reclaiming my attention. The pages are filled with various notes and observations, but written in cursive in the top-left corner are the initials HDT.