Thursday, November 12, 2009

I have more feelings than thoughts this morning, my whole psyche is a quagmire, but my job is to continue on.

What is this flash in the pan we have? No really, what the hell is it? Why are so many people content with their little piece of cake and not wildly curious about what the whole cake looks like, or who is the baker? What is the meaning of this wild ride we all rent? I've never really understood the apathy I perceive all around, because all my life I've been searching for wisdom, knowledge, truth, beauty; something that gives life a heart. Or maybe this apathy is all just for show and most men and women are quietly desperate, happy just to get by with some dignity. I've been trying to ignore the stark reality of having to get by, but I'm beginning to see that an emotional rift separates those who are afraid of not getting by and those afraid of just getting by. Maybe it's not fear so much as an approach to societies whole game, and I guess I haven't really read the playbook. Because of my ignorance, I'm getting tackled just about now. Hopefully I can shake it off, but I might have a concussion.

I mean, why do we suffer so much, and why do we feel so much joy? Is it just synaptic touch football with a post-game endorphin opiate cocktail? I'm not even asking why we suffer, I'm asking why we even exist to suffer, why am I sitting here wondering why we exist to feel happy, sad, scared, exited; the whole gamut of our emotional reality. Why do my fingers have their specific shape, why do I walk in circles, why does driving fast feel exiting? Why, why, why?

Some of you may think that I am talking about philosophy or religion or art or science. You're way off base. It isn't that at all. I could care less about all these established modes of sticking life in a box, and that's what's getting under my skin. How can life be pigeon-holed? Why does anything need to be labeled, and is this quest to label everything in the universe our sick method of trying to wrest control of our lives, of life itself? In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God. Or so we would like to think. Before the Word, there was life. Before we labeled the mystery, there was the mystery. Before everything we know, there was something we didn't know.

Well, after all that is said and done, I still have to get up and do the dishes. I'm beginning to see that doing the dishes, taking a walk, holding hands, watching the stars, eating a cupcake, drawing a flower, everything, absolutely everything I do is life expressing itself and is of the utmost importance in the way that all acts are. Everything I do is a work of art, a science experiment, a prayer, a philosophic treatise. This is most definitely a metaphor, and it is not a metaphor at all. Life manifests itself metaphorically, I think, and the falling leaves in autumn are real.

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