On "True Learning"

On a crisp, Autumn day, I prance on the remains of fallen maple leaves covering cold, dry, brittle grass, as if I own the ground on which I presently reside. I, in my Mexican suede shoes, my Pakistani jeans, and my Bangladeshi shirt, attempt to elevate myself to an effervescent enlightenment. Before me were the Potawatomi and the Illini, but I dance on the beautifully gardened graves of anonymous "freedom fighters" because I understand no reason not to. One day, after many of burning OPEC-gasoline in what I consider to be significant endeavors, I will abandon my "home" to find a community of others like me: a society divorced from any America and any world, composed of people aching to discover truth to wield for their own desires in the communities from which they oh-so-recently escaped. I, inheritor of privilege, must live and die only to search for the never-changing boundaries by which I guide myself.