The Isolate Tower

Was it Blake who stated the “path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom?” I’ve seen it you know, this tower, although it was but a glimpse, through a thousand miles of raging waves and clouds. It was the size of a pinhead from my perspective, but so sublime, and irrevocable. It’s a steadfast, ivory, shimmering tower where not a word is uttered in its solemn halls, only abstract ideas and thoughts. Surrounded by rocky shoals and raging waves, the only way to arrive to this forsaken isle is to don wings, like Icarus, cautious not to fly too close to the sun, and equally cautious not to fly too low, beneath the heavy clouds, headlong into the storm. This isle does not obey the laws of the compass, by the way. You will not find it on any of the world-maps man has so obsessively drafted over the past millennia.

I return to the dive bar that forever haunts my dreams. It teems with the same cast of characters: pawns, queens, and kings. Forever trapped in their cyclic dance of regret, lost bets - unwilling to change. I sit in the back in my usual spot, my stein of beer and a bowl of nuts my only company, along with my thoughts. As is typical when I need to think I come here, so I may observe, and drink my fill, pain to kill, rage to chill. The human drama plays out, like a Sophoclean tragedy performed in the round, as the smoke-stained walls buffer the howling winds, offering strength and solace. This structure, unlike its patrons, is structurally sound. Too many questions, not enough glasses. Fleeting answers spoken in riddles and feint whispers. They ask me: what makes a tragic figure? Is it one that falls from a great height, from a position of power, into obscurity away from the light? No evidence left except a broken hourglass, infinite shards and scattered sand, no one willing to sweep up the mess or extend a smile or a hand? Isn’t this what we all fear in the end… no not death, silly... but obscurity?

“The path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom.” I’ve studied this phrase extensively over the years, over the drinks, and I’ve concluded the following: the path of excess might assist to bring you here to this rainy isle, a feat unto itself, but to gain entrance into the tower itself? It is in fact pain that shall gain you admittance through those impenetrable gates. Excess is merely a precursor to pain that is a precursor to enlightenment. Tragedy, though, is a VIP pass my friend.