One thought

You know, so often I sit in front of this computer, telling myself that now is the time to get things off my chest. Now is the time for me to write something...something meaningful, something both awe-inspired and awe-inspiring.

But I never have the slightest idea of what to write. In all honesty, something else, someone else writes through me. But its strange, how none of what emerges seems coherent, makes sense. Who knows? Perhaps it isn't supposed to. 

Tonight, however, I feel so forcefully compelled to push, to shove, to expel the acute yet evanescent fluttering of that elusive sense of meaning in life, outwards from the abyss within. I fully comprehend that I must seem like an utter madman, with all the vastly contradictory work I spew out all over this little chunk of the world wide web every so often. And in those moments of self-analysis and reflection, I cannot refrain from wondering where all these worlds that we write into existence, almost self-awareness, come from. Where they lead to. It amazes me to understand the countless ways in which we as humans seek to find understanding of self and other. We are relentless in our pursuit of some unattainable relief through our expression of the abstract, the impassioned, the obscure and dark, the lovesick...and we fully comprehend the fact that this "Holy Other" that we keep chasing like dogs chase their tails, will never be ours to hold and to feel like sunlight on our shoulders on the coldest of days. But perhaps, this is part of the allure...the journey of it all. The great trek toward the ephemeral, the precious and life-affirming phantom star that is our idea of completed self-expression. Perhaps the spark and flame of that vehemence and impetus lies not in the acquisition of what it is that we seek with such thirst and resolution, but rather in the eternal reaching for that tantalizing closure, that beautiful finality which is only beautiful so long as it remains out of reach.

I have been walking a strange path, this last while. As we learn quite early on in this curious existence, the only constant is change. "Solve et coagula", as they say. How is that relevant, you ask? Well, my demeanour has troughed and peaked like just about every wave you could find in a physical science handbook. I have soared at the highest of highs, and burned at the lowest of lows, as we all have. But thresholds have been crossed. Great ones, giants that ironically remain unseen to the naked eye. I have forever been a man who requires certainty and shuns the hot hand of chance, but something larger is happening, and I cannot shake the feeling that I am in the process of escaping the deepest and most asphyxiating self-destruction of my entire life. Slowly, very slowly, but there is indeed a marked progression. Forward. That invaluable word. It destroys stagnation and regression, and like a sudden westerly wind on the sea, it almost seems to carry with it the weight required to move a man in its unbridled likeness. Forward.

But, as always, I digress. I believe I must sound like a fool who loves to hear himself speak (or watch himself write), but there is actually an underlying function and purpose to this cumbersome cluster of sentences and paragraphs, and that is this:

The day will break the dark night of your spirit, when it is requested to do so. If despair is an emptiness, it begs to be filled. Fill it.