What is the planet? What is the world? What is the solar
system? What is this life? What are these intakes of breath, billion upon
billions of them, every day? What are
the colours? What is the sky? What are the lives and the thoughts and the
beating hearts? Who are they beating for – what are they beating for? What is
the mind, what is the soul; what is psychological pain? What is sadness when it
is heavy like rocks, what is joy when it lifts you to the edge of the universe?
What is a journey, what are these words, why am I writing, why are you reading?
How does your brain work – isn’t It beautiful? Isn't the way your fingers bend
and the way you blink fascinating, the way your toes quiver, the way your
insides squirm. The way no knowledge will ever be enough, the way we wonder and
wonder. What is my purpose? My goal? My belief? I am intrinsically linked to the
point of restlessness with something that I cannot comprehend. I’ve struck a
chord in some dimension that no one even knows about. My life is spent wavering
in the past, the present, the future and the imagination; spent half in mind
and half in action, questioning things more than anyone could know. Thinking of
things and feeling hopelessness, because as humans, it’s hard sometimes not to
feel hopelessness when we’ve been presented with life, following each other,
leading it, accepting it, and not questioning it. It shakes me, like a
harrowing storm, to think so deep; ‘tis safer to stay on dry land: “life’s more
painless, for the brainless.” But my mind, she has a mind of her own; I am filled
with craziness; everything I touch, like skittles, turns to something odd,
something strange, something perhaps ruined. Ruined in the eyes of the
beholder, blundering my way through life, wondering if ever I will grasp what
is to me an understanding. But we, as human, as simple masters of ourselves and
yet brainless, stupid, insignificant nothings, created this word “understanding.”
We placed letters together; we learned the concept; we shared the concept. But
how is it a word, when understanding does not exist? Everything that you know,
that you think you know, is not real. Potentially, none of this is real. None
but pain, because that is blinding yet enlightening to the point where it can
never fail, walking hand in hand with fear and hate to destroy us all. I have
faith in humanity, yet I weep for humanity…I fail to “understand” humanity. I
fail to understand myself, or what it is that we plan to do, to enjoy, to cry,
to weep, to die. To keep on moving forward, ‘til tears have been shed for
eternity, babies have been born ‘til the end of time and things have shifted
beyond anything we in this snapshot of time, of this thing we call time, could
know. Time, time, time, you slip away, you leave us; where do you go? Is there
an intergalactic storage centre in the core of nature, of natural comprehension,
where the time goes? Does it frolic amongst meadows, does it sing, does it feel
emotion? Is it like sand from a sand timer; will we run out of it, before we
run out of air? How do you explain things such as time which are real and
fundamental but do not truly exist? How to define what it is to spend time, like
it is currency, something you can own. No one owns time, time is unownable;
time is in itself a Houdini, a terrific performer; an escapist. I’m taking your
time, taking it, right now; as if time can be taken, as if time can be told. As
if time has been old and young and born and shall die again. Where am I going
with this? That’s not the question, for it seems we have no destination; the
word destination is just as made up, just as fake, as what it represents. As
false as our metaphors, as our similes, of our allusions. A hopeless destination:
perhaps I should be filled with utter gloom, perhaps you’re feeling now like I
have overstepped the mark; I have questioned too much. But there is no gloom;
there is no need for comprehension, or destination. Enjoy the colours, the sky,
the emotion, the air, the time, the feelings that shake your soul, the actions
that clear your mind, the movements that evoke thought and happiness.
Contentment is in those that accept defeat in all understanding and just
wonder, and feel joy in something that is entirely out of reach. World - you
are truly wonderful.
