Thursday, November 28, 2013

Metadata of a Life


Fatigue slams down, hitting like a black, slightly tacky hammer in the darkness, smelling of a musty wood shop. It leaves the mind intact and willing to go about daily works. Sapped of necessary electrons, oxygen or perhaps antioxidants, the body becomes no longer a useful tool of the brain, but a hardship. Unfortunately the brain cannot bail out but must weather out the storm, finding ways to keep itself entertained until the body resumes its normal function. The body becomes a mass of floppy appendages, getting in the way of thought processes, useless but still requiring food and other necessities. Truly a burden on the brain. The only solace for the brain during these times is that it will all turn around and once again the body will resume normal function, which cannot be said for all bodies, something important to keep in mind.


Many lives are spent waiting for joy to happen, or waiting for it to doused upon them like a sudden, welcome downpour on a warm summer day, or to come specially labelled in a big shiny package set at their door step. But joy comes in fleeting moments. In seconds—small fragments of time but millions times a day.  Joy is not a certain thing, but a certain way of thinking. Sometimes it is easy to miss it. Humans living their lives do not often stop and look for joy. They check their check boxes. Straighten their ties. Do not recognize those minute moments for what they are.


Loneliness used to be a word spat out with hate, a word to be destroyed.  For a time, nothing worse could be imagined that this mere fact. A person on their own. While sometimes you still glimpse fear as it crumples the corners of you papers as it tries to dart into the familiar corners of your heart-- but mostly loneliness has a different relationship. It is more like plunging deeply into a warm calm ocean with eyes open. You can see the surface of the sky from here. Looking up. Thoughts. Words. Actions.  Loneliness gives you confidence. To do things not often done. To step out of the humdrum.


Sorrow inevitably unfolds from things that cannot be changed. Things that cannot be changed are some of the hardest the deal with. What to do with a memory, an emotion, a guilt, a pain, a sadness?  Caused by you or unable to be stopped by you or happened to you. Sorrow is sorrow and nothing to change it. Sorrow slips into your mind like black ink. By letting it remain there it can become heavy and dark in your thoughts, a liquid pool of dense emotion, of doubt or guilt, of jolted dreams and stomach aches. Letting the black ink of sorrow slip and slide out splashing onto paper, vibrating into space, releasing your sound into the universe, reaching another’s ear, commiserating. Sorrow seems to dwindle through the act of expression.

Saturday, November 02, 2013

dark warm windy nights.

Last night a warm wind blew across the city. A strange warm wind, at once gentle and warm, at the same time violent enough to rip the screen off my window and send it colliding with the pavement below.

I walked out to a park in the dark. From far back you see the black sillouette of park benches backdropped against the city below. The edge of nothingness. It's quiet. The lights glimmer silently. The wind whips at my coat. My music blares in my ears. Frenic music that blocks out the silence.

Sitting there. On the edge of darkness.

I feel that burning in my chest. The familiar welcome yet unwelcome feeling. I tried so hard to do it all my way. But here I am. It doesn't feel like my way. It feels like a trap. The trap I always knew it would be. The trap I wanted to avoid. But here I am.

I wanted to be different. I wanted to do it all differently. But somehow I did it just the same.