Saturday, May 30, 2009
Breathing in the stillness of the night
March 24 2000
Sometimes I feel like I’m on fire inside. Things are raging uncontrollably. It’s chaotic and overwhelming. And I think that maybe if I can find a way to internalize the peace and tranquility I sometimes see around me that it will be ok. So I go outside in the middle of the night and I revel in the stillness and blackness and I inhale deeply hoping that maybe by sheer will power I can breathe in the stillness of the night and all the insanities buzzing around in my head will sleep and I will be at peace. But, as soon as I leave the cloak of darkness, the buzzing starts up again and my head pounds with the burden of trying to catch the dancing letters in the air and keep them captive on the page in a way that inspires thought and reveals insight. And there are days when I wonder, can I really do this? Then I think, I have no choice. Do I must. And I do.
The deities of sleep are conspiring against me for reasons I know not. Furthermore, this possibility has come to my attention, that those momentary splashes of true insight and brilliance I occasionally come across in my meanderings are washing away in a mind too cluttered to sort them out and file them for the good of human kind. And so that is what is to be said about potential. Such a silly word, really. Either be or don’t be, but who cares about potential. Reminds me of a joke my brother told me. The punch line serving as a sharp comparison between potential and reality. Reality, now there’s an unfathomable concept. What, indeed, is real? It’s all just symbols. Are symbols real? Only in as much as we understand them. So, how well do we understand them? Forget we. How well do I understand them? Life is a game, a competition to see who can unravel the meaning. Someone once said (or maybe wrote) something like “Life is a comedy for those who think, and a tragedy for those who feel.” Does that make it a tragi-comedy for those of us who do both? My brother once said … damn, how did it go (pardon me a moment while I search my mind for the right memory) “Life is a tragedy in writing and a comedy when spoken.” Though I do believe it sounded better when he said it. We were buying strawberry pie at the time. Sadly, they weren’t quite ripe.