Where do moments of pure clarity come from? And are they truly that, pure and clear? Or do they change the second you realize what they are, becoming tainted with the stain of realization?

I like to think I have many of these moments. Deep in the night when the rest of the world sleeps away, I sit at my desk (or, alternatively, my couch with my lapdesk) and am hit with these miniature meteors of understanding and profound insight. The world makes sense for a split second before I begin contemplation. All is right in the world until I begin to deconstruct the epiphany the universe has given to me. Then everything comes crashing down: apocalypses and chaos reigning, multitudes of horsemen are galloping over everything I am continually trying to keep at rights.

Then I open my eyes, stare at my keyboard with my heart pounding in my chest (wait a second -- I have one of those?!) and realize that I am my own destructor, my own creator, my own foil and my own fortune. How ironic that I am so much yet I feel so little towards myself. My magnanimity can extend far, further beyond what my mind's eye can imagine, yet I cannot pull it back enough to extend over me.

I'm good with pretty words and flowery prose, I must admit. ::insert the sound of my own horn being toot-ed::