Plato is my friend.

Even after we've stepped out of the cave- away from the shadows and the puppets- blinded by the intensity of the light, it is neccesary to return back to the status of caveman (or caveperson, to be P.C.). "They" say that college is the time that your mind expands and you mature. I assumed that I was doing so, gradually, as I accumulated credits. It was one of those things that you don't realize the full extent of until you've experienced it. The combination of my experiences at this point has led me to a new level of thinking; one in which I can now begin on a path to realize and become cognizant on the fact that I know nothing.

When I first broke through the chains holding me down to the chair and turned around to see the puppetry that I believed was reality, it was an emotionally shocking time. This was a while ago. When your view of reality at one time becomes so drastically altered it will throw you. Knocks you right off your feet. You're crawling around like a baby, unknowing of the ability to walk. You have left the privacy, familiarity and comfortableness of the womb and it's damn scary. Who are these people? What is everyone doing? How am I not myself?

This first realization allowed me to accept new possibilities. It allowed for introspection and external rumination. I was metamorphasized, but my changes were limited to my new view of reality. I saw the puppets; I resented the puppets; I swore never to go back to embracing the puppets. But I was still in the cave. I accepted the reality of my world: I have transcended the shadows and I am cognizant of their existence, but I'm still forced to look at them. I can view them with this added skepticism, but my freedom was limited by the cave's limited expanse.

Leaving the cave finally knocked me on my ass.

It was this dramatic shift in my reality that has led me to realize the extent of my ignorance. When you leave the cave, you must face the inevitable question: "If my definition of reality can suddenly be altered to the point of a total loss of my former view, how can I possibly know anything ever?" With experiences, our views of reality are constantly modified. Leaving the cave has completely humbled me, allowing me to appreciate the intracacies of the commonplace.

I am still too proud to accept that I know n0thing, however. I logically conclude that I know nothing, but I still don't know it. My friend Plato says that we can only begin to learn at that point that we can acknowledge this concept. I can feel myself approaching it, although it is far away.

My allies are people and my enemy is inactivity. Smart people, dumb people, mean people, nice people, belligerent people, thoughtful people, warm people, cold people, good-looking people, ugly people, fun people, dull people, mute people, deaf people, unstable people, conservative people, wild people, funny people, weird people, young people, old people: these are the benefactors of my cause. The only thing that can stop me now is inaction.

Returning to the cave, though, is an interesting and rewarding experience, after departing. The cave isn't a bad thing. Being in the cave again, allows me to see my progress and my lack of it, as well. Seeing the puppetry is a different experience after leaving the cave. I no longer resent it, but understand it's neccesity and embrace it. The cave is full of quick reactions, passion and primordial instincts. The cave is refreshing to return to. The cave is beautiful. The cave is a work of art.

In the cave the game is played. The game, too, is beautiful. It reminds me of ballet. Forces interacting in the most graceful of ways. Tugging and releasing, pushing and stepping away, teasing and ignoring, running and stopping, attentive and inattentive.

Jack Johnson knows about the cave. He also knows about the game. That's why he's my friend, as well. We spoke the other day after my alcohol-induced cave vacation.

Jack played a few riffs on his accoustic guitar, and then remarked in a frustrated tone, “It’s such a tired game, will it ever stop?”

I thought for a few moments, still in the cave. Then I looked up and, still drunk, said "Never. It’s trivial, but it’s beautiful when you’re drunk and you’re acting on primordial instincts."

In the end, Jack said nobly, "It's not for me to say." I agreed, as I began to return from the cave.