Stoicism: An Excerpt from the Book of Turmoil

The stoic sits in sage-like peace, presenting serene detachment from life’s turmoil.

But what affords him his composure? From where does such sobriety emanate?

Whatever truths preoccupy his advantaged life were mostly won by those far less pastoral.

He sits as a beneficiary of the very life he wishes to eschew, too unversed in nature to appreciate the source of his prized gems.

His worldview is no more enlightened or worthy than the desperate or spontaneous, the romantic or the obsessive. It is they who have stumbled upon the wisdom he now carries with posture and polish.

Isolating the cream of reasoning from the milk of life is not profound, it is delusional.

Do not look upon the sage with any more reverence than the volatile soul. He sits as little more than an heir to the fortunes of chaos. He is but an excerpt from the book of turmoil.

Those who till the soil grant flowers their admiration.