On the life well-lived...

Along the lines of our discussion and the debate that ensued surrounding the good-life, and whether a life lived striving for comfort/balance/mediocrity/complacency was a decent principle of living, and whether a peaceful, balanced life comprises a good life.

A bit self-indulgent I know, and a bit tropy and cliched, but I seem to find myself debating this issue quite often. And our discussion reminded me of this thing i wrote a few months ago. I've no pretentions about being a good poet, but it sort of encapsulates my position. So I thought it might be vaguely appropriate.

reflection on the life well-lived

Life is not for comfort's sake,
nor is a still room enough to keep
its flame - Life is not peace.

Life is not peace, but a wonderful violence
and a tender fist of bruised of earth
and the welt that spreads a blush.

Life is the struggle, to live to fear
to find disparity in dispositions,
and disparate - life binds the desperate.

Life occurs in pains, and colours
and names itself with clamour,
or writes itself in scars.

Life is not peace, Peace speaks:
absolute - with such-silence.
Life is our oldest verb - its
'in the doing', and the changing.

Life haunts by groves of sycamour
though they keep holds of death in sight.
Life is the Immanence: the in this 'thisness'.

Life is our lettings go,
and our fallings together.

-BN