Posts Tagged ‘prose’
When you close yourself off from the world, you close your understanding of things that it presents to you. For example, your hearing. When you’re wearing headphones and you can’t hear anything outside, the world is empty of sound. There is no real understanding of it, and whatever is said can be manipulated and distorted beyond normal recognition. There is no explanation for the silence, nothing except what we make of it. The same goes for our other senses, each with their own way of understanding the world around us. Each, working together, brings a truly remarkable understanding of one’s self.
The essence of the sun shows us, in the emptiness of space, objects of reflection. It shows us that we exist – one thing looking at the other, the other looking back – an infinite respect and understanding that there is something else out there. Do you see the constant back and forth? This is this because this is this. A rose is a rose is a rose, a trinity Gertrude Stein saw all too well.
But if we were to step away from it with a third-person perspective on all things, we would understand the true experience of life, living on a marble of water and fire and earth and wind, the four elements of life that provide self-awareness on an unmeasurable scale. We are blessed with cognitive thought, and cursed with it’s emotional reactions. Love and hate, the strongest feelings we have, are synonymous. It all depends on your connection to the thing, your attraction, your attention. Why do you hate, why do you love? Reasons for this are hard to explain without emotion, without self-awareness.
There were times at the house
all of us, Sarah, Rufus, Milo,
and it would just be so playful
in the back yard.
Hey – stop it. Stop it.
They just love those plants back there.
We could hear them there,
digging holes beneath the tree.
She doesn’t really like the tennis ball anymore.
She’s a real cutey. Come on, Honey.
Come on, time to go home. Come!
Stay. Sit, sit, stay.
It was such a great time hanging out.
Nope! Sit, stay. Good dog.
We’ll see you guys next time,
I’ll tell you about the time she found a truffle.
- projecting interest in the tone of my voice
– Buddhism and motivation
– the sound of trees rustling
– the smell of water and pine
– the life story of my father
– the ignorant future in front of me
– the need to prove myself
– the pessimistic outlook that all good things come to an end
The emptiness of boredom strikes hardest when your incessant attempts to find a purpose bear no fruit. A feeling of hopelessness manifests and begins to unroll a downward spiral of depression. We must find purpose out there. With all this seemingly free time, there is a talent we all have that can be marketed. What to do? How can we do it? Why? What’s the point of trying? The point is – we are better than the next, better qualified to see the world as it is, better prepared to fit into any open space, seamlessly willing to do what others will not.
“… – “
“Honey, tell me what’s wrong.”
“… – “
“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, it means you’re breaking up with me.”
I stayed silent, looking in her eyes with a sad expression. She knew.
I nodded my head wearily, only once, as if ashamed. I was ashamed. I broke the heart of an angel.
I cannot forget it,
the oft-repeated message of the Sage.