Friday, June 20, 2003
Okay, so now I've established that I am here. So what? Now what? The truth is, I decided to do one of these sites to keep me motivated to write periodically. Sort of an exercise bike for my mind - as with the risk that comes with actually buying the exercise machine, I am putting my discipline on the line and swearing it won't it end up rusting in the basement storage...
However, at this moment I have exactly one reader, and not as much time as I'd like to write. So for this first introductory entry, I want to post what I consider to be the best thing I have written to date. Without further ado, I give you: "We do don't we".
---
We do, don’t we? And what we didn’t do we did by choice, not by apathy or lethargy. And what we haven’t done will be done, because we are and that’s what we do. They’re everywhere around us, those people, like me and you, who are making and creating and loving. Is there any real distinction to be made between doing and loving? Does anyone do without loving or can anyone love without doing? They are one and the same, synonymous with life.
The girl at the bookstore was perusing through several titles when I noticed her. And when I finally did, I was shocked that it took so long. Certain people in this world carry an aura about them, an aura which is life, and this one had it. God, looking at it sends great chills and provides great comfort. I didn’t have to speak to her, to know. To know that we were one and the same. She was standing looking down, a book in hand, reviewing it to see if it fit the standards. She flipped a page, paused, and read. She flipped the page again, paused and read a passage which was of some interest. I didn’t want to meet her, to talk to her, I just wanted to stare and take notice. I was not going to interfere in that moment, in that moment of true beauty. So I admired her. Upon her head was a little hat, a khaki background with brown and red plaid on it. It matched her red corduroy jacket, but that was implied, upon this head. Upon her head was something that said she cared, that she loved. Upon another’s head it would have been a trendy little hat, designed to make them look cute and nothing more. Upon her head was just another example of life.
I sat the other day admiring a boy. He was sitting on a chair, not unaware, but impervious to the outside world. He was guarded by his shell of life; his dedication and determination in his work gave away his love for it, his love for life, and that provided all the tools he would need. I fell in love instantly. He was sitting in a lawn chair underneath a cedar tree, but the tree, the lawn chair, the cars driving by, and the one admiring from the distance were irrelevant to the boy. They did not exist in his world, at that moment. At that moment, only four things, the black guitar resting on his legs, the notebook sitting in front of it, the pen in his hand and the mind in his head, only four things, were the only objects that lived in his reality of the moment. He did not lose himself in the moment; he most certainly was not lost in thought. This moment, this thought running through his head, both were being carefully constructed, as all the things in his life would be. He placed himself inside the moment, for inside each moment was where the truths lie. Some he had found, others he was still searching, but they would be found. I sat and admired the greatness that would be to come. Inside his head.
I look around this world, and I wonder. Is it wrong to admire? To seek out and to find the others who are living? To seek out comfort in this world? I wonder. Everywhere I look I find truths, truths about me and you and all of us. The truths are different for each one, and they are the same. In the oak tree out my window I see a truth about me, in the song in my mind I hear a truth about you.
I dreamed last night of a suicide and a murder. The suicide was secondary, for the person had already been killed. He merely threw away the shell. I could not stop him, because I had no argument. Life was no longer there to protect him, so he had left my world already. Life is not without pain, I thought. I had been reflecting on that one afternoon, while I looked at that very man through a window. I peered through the window of my reality into the window of his world, and saw true pain. Oh, it drove through me like an arrow! I could see him, in a blurry vision, stuck in a limbo from which he could not, or would not, escape. His life would fade and grow strong, fade and grow strong. Somewhere, I think, and while I can’t be sure, I think his soul is fighting it, fighting that thing which has no name. He is being beaten down, and in this moment, as the sight gets more fuzzy, he is beaten. He stares at something, and there in no light behind his eyes. In this moment, he is dead. As with all moments, he put himself there, and only he can get himself out. And I don’t know if he will. This knowledge is pain.
But there in the darkness I saw a light. It was a light of contrast, one that I can see and many can’t. It was a sight of love in a world of pain, yet really, it was that truth that made it a flicker of pain in a world of love. Pain doesn’t exist without love, does it? Darkness does not exist unless you know light. We fight by doing. In our pursuit of happiness, we fight.
We do, don’t we? We aspire, we dream, we learn, we think, we create, we do. We love. We do so as individuals, in a world where light exists and fights on. The boy with the guitar and the girl in the bookstore are all I need as proof.
However, at this moment I have exactly one reader, and not as much time as I'd like to write. So for this first introductory entry, I want to post what I consider to be the best thing I have written to date. Without further ado, I give you: "We do don't we".
---
We do, don’t we? And what we didn’t do we did by choice, not by apathy or lethargy. And what we haven’t done will be done, because we are and that’s what we do. They’re everywhere around us, those people, like me and you, who are making and creating and loving. Is there any real distinction to be made between doing and loving? Does anyone do without loving or can anyone love without doing? They are one and the same, synonymous with life.
The girl at the bookstore was perusing through several titles when I noticed her. And when I finally did, I was shocked that it took so long. Certain people in this world carry an aura about them, an aura which is life, and this one had it. God, looking at it sends great chills and provides great comfort. I didn’t have to speak to her, to know. To know that we were one and the same. She was standing looking down, a book in hand, reviewing it to see if it fit the standards. She flipped a page, paused, and read. She flipped the page again, paused and read a passage which was of some interest. I didn’t want to meet her, to talk to her, I just wanted to stare and take notice. I was not going to interfere in that moment, in that moment of true beauty. So I admired her. Upon her head was a little hat, a khaki background with brown and red plaid on it. It matched her red corduroy jacket, but that was implied, upon this head. Upon her head was something that said she cared, that she loved. Upon another’s head it would have been a trendy little hat, designed to make them look cute and nothing more. Upon her head was just another example of life.
I sat the other day admiring a boy. He was sitting on a chair, not unaware, but impervious to the outside world. He was guarded by his shell of life; his dedication and determination in his work gave away his love for it, his love for life, and that provided all the tools he would need. I fell in love instantly. He was sitting in a lawn chair underneath a cedar tree, but the tree, the lawn chair, the cars driving by, and the one admiring from the distance were irrelevant to the boy. They did not exist in his world, at that moment. At that moment, only four things, the black guitar resting on his legs, the notebook sitting in front of it, the pen in his hand and the mind in his head, only four things, were the only objects that lived in his reality of the moment. He did not lose himself in the moment; he most certainly was not lost in thought. This moment, this thought running through his head, both were being carefully constructed, as all the things in his life would be. He placed himself inside the moment, for inside each moment was where the truths lie. Some he had found, others he was still searching, but they would be found. I sat and admired the greatness that would be to come. Inside his head.
I look around this world, and I wonder. Is it wrong to admire? To seek out and to find the others who are living? To seek out comfort in this world? I wonder. Everywhere I look I find truths, truths about me and you and all of us. The truths are different for each one, and they are the same. In the oak tree out my window I see a truth about me, in the song in my mind I hear a truth about you.
I dreamed last night of a suicide and a murder. The suicide was secondary, for the person had already been killed. He merely threw away the shell. I could not stop him, because I had no argument. Life was no longer there to protect him, so he had left my world already. Life is not without pain, I thought. I had been reflecting on that one afternoon, while I looked at that very man through a window. I peered through the window of my reality into the window of his world, and saw true pain. Oh, it drove through me like an arrow! I could see him, in a blurry vision, stuck in a limbo from which he could not, or would not, escape. His life would fade and grow strong, fade and grow strong. Somewhere, I think, and while I can’t be sure, I think his soul is fighting it, fighting that thing which has no name. He is being beaten down, and in this moment, as the sight gets more fuzzy, he is beaten. He stares at something, and there in no light behind his eyes. In this moment, he is dead. As with all moments, he put himself there, and only he can get himself out. And I don’t know if he will. This knowledge is pain.
But there in the darkness I saw a light. It was a light of contrast, one that I can see and many can’t. It was a sight of love in a world of pain, yet really, it was that truth that made it a flicker of pain in a world of love. Pain doesn’t exist without love, does it? Darkness does not exist unless you know light. We fight by doing. In our pursuit of happiness, we fight.
We do, don’t we? We aspire, we dream, we learn, we think, we create, we do. We love. We do so as individuals, in a world where light exists and fights on. The boy with the guitar and the girl in the bookstore are all I need as proof.
Thursday, June 19, 2003
The path may be arduous, wrong turns may appear attractive, but the pittering and pattering of my feet will continue, and one day I will be able to say, as I am saying today, "I have arrived."
