Inte[grit{t}(y)]

I realise what I feel more and more is the integrity I have transmitted to my children – the need to live with integrity, with grit, with fierce determination and entirety – is not something I have been able to live my own life through; really, not at all. 

I have enabled the correct environment for the brilliance of my children, but in the process I have also forgotten what once I could have become.

Now these times and joys – the opportunities for having them, I mean – are slipping gently away, I have to decide, during what is left of my life, whether to go down the route of integrity or monetisability. 

I mentioned the other day how I wanted for people who love me to know my mind, but not for people who see it in dollar signs to get anywhere near.  I think I maintain that position on reflection.

If anything is a constant in my life, it is the need and desire to constantly pursue my truth.  Access to wealth facilitates such a pursuit, of course – we all need to eat.  But its selfsame omnipotence and watchfulness also destroys the very innovations – at birth! – which it claims to want to engender.

And I don’t want to engage in those battles.  

My battles lie elsewhere.

I have realised in recent conversation that the best a thinker can add to the world – for a thinker, even if raw, is what I always have been – is to take a particular moment, space, place and danger and chase it down until it reveals its obfuscations.

What I look for in the future, then, what really fires my soul, is not the love of people who might work in huge companies and are looking to monetise my brain cells quite despite myself – whilst in the process, achieving their goals of bending me out of shape – but, rather, the simple respect and affection some will one day hold for me as I aim to create a philosophy of the world; and what’s more important, a philosophy of the world not a world of philosophy.

We are but what we are.

Money as a means, inevitably; but not as a tool to construct these boxes that end up dismantling our inner grace and beauty.

That’s my choice. And I’m sorry if there are people out there who wanted my brain cells for their own purposes.  But – like all of us here who enjoy the honour of being human – our brain cells belong to ourselves, not those who would master and mistress them.

Hope yous understand, those of yous – in particular C and R – who ever thought it could ever be any other way.

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