If
this whole mad mess weren’t so effin beautiful I would’ve looked away a
long time ago. Instead, I stare. I peer through nuance and subtlety,
into the tapestry being sewn into this day. I peel back the layers of
deceit and seeming-chaos in the heart of man and really do see the pretty things. Now
you may claim that it’s much easier to write the world off as an arena
where even the winners are just losers in denial; you may even find
comfort in knowing that everything eventually dies and decays because
this fuels your elementary magnetism to nihilism. I
shall remark that I too have longed to spout a similar rant on the
meaningless of it all, to dismiss our one mechanical existence as
predetermined. Unraveling at the fringe. Screwed. Believe it: I’ve
wanted to look away many times as the evidence begins to stack against
an urge to stare....But then it happens, often in a cliched opening - a
newborn’s eyes or a gardenia in bloom - but still more jarring and
lasting in the slight but fierce motion that blindsides you at two in the
afternoon. Just before the river spews over the ledge to the rocks below, light separates us from the void and we know that we are held by
something - a force, a thought, a movement - something true and good,
something too real and unbridled to claim as our own at any one moment,
something we can only exist within.
This afternoon-epiphany, this surge of the longing to stare, is - in
my translation - the breath of God. Sure, it’s ephemeral, abstract,
trite to a point, but when it fills you, and your sails gain form,
nothing else has gravity. Trust me.
No comments:
Post a Comment