Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Apologies to the Foreshadowed

What was so confidently alluded to will not come into being. Almost unanimously we decided to continue this sentient taboo we called Trumbull House; it's purposes were many, it's resources prodigy, and it's will evident in every symbiont pattern. With full knowledge we turned our backs on every warning, precaution, and prejudgment, endeavoring to do what was not expected, encouraged, or even understood. We enforced an environment permeated with knowledge, open to perspective, and aching for progress. Advancing through a complex medium of contemplative delirium and deserved belligerence, we opened to humanity for what aid it might offer and what influence we might exact. What humanity returned was an affirmation of denial to replace my lost naivety.

These are my formal apologies:

  • To those who I met only in passing and those yet to pass. Some knew me and my family in a fashion not entirely reciprocal. For all of those who eagerly accepted our peace offerings and hospitality, and who took no advantage, I thank you indefinitely. For those who go unremembered, lost in the crowd, purged in the aftermath, or obscured in the general haze, I apologize sincerely; you will not receive my impartial beginnings again. For those who will remain only as abandoned potential, I apologize most deeply. Because so many who passed were good, you fell to a statistical inevitability.

  • To my family, as they were; people of such exemplary character that the ideals of Trumbull house came without direct effort or feat of will, but as a natural consequence of the general hunger and discontent with societal norms. An enormous amount of selfless toil was forwarded by these people for no better reason than to provide an open and positive environment for all who were willing to accept it. The better part of this effort was based on a few people who's intentions were of such purity that I have often found response only in tears. I apologize that such a noble, elaborate, and utterly tireless attempt was thwarted by an evil of such pitiful mediocrity.

  • Because none of the unnamed ever will, I apologize to myself. I apologize for the environment that I have lost and for the assumptions that I can no longer make. When intelligence, ambition, and blatant defiance collided with the opportunities provided by magnitude, cooperation, and a relative anarchy, I spent one year in the eye of the storm. Every conversation rivaled the classroom, every party a reaffirmation of life, and every day the antithesis of routine. I leave Trumbull with more respect for just about every conceivable topic in the intellectual myriad, and as a more highly developed and complete individual. But those ideals have grown unstable and they must inevitably collapse. With such freedom and acceptance comes an inherent vulnerability. This is a valuable lesson that requires my acknowledgment, reconciliation, and redefinition.

It has been said that all things happen for a reason. I don’t necessarily agree, but I do believe that some lessons can be extracted from the events. Some of us thought that if we gave enough to people we would reap what we sowed. My greatest loss is that last little bit of naivety; someone will always exploit altruism. But the real damage was not to me. I remain with my family, among those that we trust unconditionally, and we will continue our progress, our community, and occasionally our deserved belligerence. But we will do so in isolation, secure and free from distractions, eyes set to the next level. It is all of those who were yet to come, those nameless and faceless who would have known the place and time if not the people, and those few who would have eventually made their way into our trusted circle, reaped the benefits of our environment, and bestowed us their priceless contributions, who have truly lost. For those we did see, most of them were good, kind hearted, and harmless beyond even my expectations. Most. I guess the point here is that there are a lot of human snakes out there and sometimes you want a tomato that’s just too goddamn big to fit through the door, even at Trumbull House.