When I contemplate my contemplations on the how's and why's of my existence, I realize the story I've written of my journey thus far is as mediocre as the crow, living between the margins of civilization and the bottomless ocean of spirit that traverses every dimension of every atom, that most don't seem to notice. I stagnate in awe of the experience of Consciousness like a bum with no where to go, and no thing to do. My body decays at every blink of mine eyes and soon my vital force will transmute back into the womb of it all, and give life to new organisms. In the final moments of my travel back to whence my energy was produced, I will realize the dream-like nature of it all, and smile as I drown in the bliss of understanding... until then, what to do, travel the rock?
That was fun to read even if it made very little sense because of poor choice in wording. And crows are mediocre compared to what? Just curious.
In beauty I'd say yes, but that's still subjective I guess. To some the coal black crow is more beautiful than snow. Yes I am Dr. Ganja Suess.
The crow isn't mediocre... my life is, and I'm comparing it to the crow that goes unnoticed. I think Crow's are divine, such as existence, but the perspective of others differs.
I thought that was pretty neat. My answer, enjoy the shit out of it. If it's just a dream, then what the hell, ya know?