the arc
i have been thinking about getting older, trying to decide whether i fear it.
mortality has, for obvious reasons, become something i consider. it is always at odd times--taking out the trash or extending my limbs all around me as i sit in my un-air conditioned living room so that no section of hot flesh touches any other. at these moments i think, eventually, i will not be. not here, not like this and i can feel my forehead wrinkle with the strange and uncomfortable truth. there's nothing for it except to hope there is a long path between now and then and of course the vow not to waste any of it.
but my idea of waste has changed as i've grown, is i'm sure changing still, and i find myself unamused by what once tickled me, even (if you can imagine!) a bit bored of wit--my own as much as others. i have reached a moment where i want substance, practice, the organic, unintellectual mess of fecundity, natality, birth. i want the literal and the figurative to be able to be united, not identical, but united. yes, even in state-sanctioned unity and if i have objections i want them to be more than vague dissatisfaction, i want them to be specific, world-based, real. i want to be able to say what i mean. know what i want and not be down on absolutely everything. in this moment, i have grown weary of speculation, suspicious of conjecture. i want to hold what the world has to give in my hands. my romance with the liminal has faded, perhaps because i have never had so much joy in the concrete. these days, i am enamored of sincerity. and belief.
it is not that i have come to value ignorance or blindness, i have not, but i have become sure that deconstruciton is only the first step toward knowledge. disillusionment merely the blast that opens up new possibilities for action. necessary insufficiencies. we must acknowledge negativity, of course. even abjection, check, but there is also everything else. and that is what i am interested in. what i mean is, tearing down the old edifice only matters if you are prepared to build a new one, or at least, stand back and encourage others when they make the attempt. i am tired, very tired of skepticism without purpose, the skepticism of privilege, of erudite shit-talking, of the abandonment of earnestness. i don't know how to work out the difference between the lessons of experience and the (useless) self-protection of cynicism, but i want to. i want to cast out everything that feeds my bitterness so that eventually it eats itself, having nothing else to consume.
and besides that i miss inquiry. i miss standing in some text or situation with my heart open, with my brain waiting, less full of caveats, asterisk and qualifications. i miss innocence. i want to learn the difference between it and naivety.
do not mistake me, i know there is no precipice, no point in the arc of life from here to there that will divulge the truths of forever. thankfully, i have never craved such a thing and do not now. i think it is because i believe (yes, have always believed) there is something within us, between us, that is enough, that deserves to be celebrated. unabashedly and with wonder.
i do not know its name or origin, i do not know whether it provides answers or has a purpose, but interestingly, i do not think i need to know these things in order to seek it. it is the experience that matters to me, the moments that i collect along the way that fill me up from head to toe, that let me exist in surprise and awe, in bewildered fascination and gratitude.
in fact, i have come to a point in my arc in which all that seems worthy is to seek them.
mortality has, for obvious reasons, become something i consider. it is always at odd times--taking out the trash or extending my limbs all around me as i sit in my un-air conditioned living room so that no section of hot flesh touches any other. at these moments i think, eventually, i will not be. not here, not like this and i can feel my forehead wrinkle with the strange and uncomfortable truth. there's nothing for it except to hope there is a long path between now and then and of course the vow not to waste any of it.
but my idea of waste has changed as i've grown, is i'm sure changing still, and i find myself unamused by what once tickled me, even (if you can imagine!) a bit bored of wit--my own as much as others. i have reached a moment where i want substance, practice, the organic, unintellectual mess of fecundity, natality, birth. i want the literal and the figurative to be able to be united, not identical, but united. yes, even in state-sanctioned unity and if i have objections i want them to be more than vague dissatisfaction, i want them to be specific, world-based, real. i want to be able to say what i mean. know what i want and not be down on absolutely everything. in this moment, i have grown weary of speculation, suspicious of conjecture. i want to hold what the world has to give in my hands. my romance with the liminal has faded, perhaps because i have never had so much joy in the concrete. these days, i am enamored of sincerity. and belief.
it is not that i have come to value ignorance or blindness, i have not, but i have become sure that deconstruciton is only the first step toward knowledge. disillusionment merely the blast that opens up new possibilities for action. necessary insufficiencies. we must acknowledge negativity, of course. even abjection, check, but there is also everything else. and that is what i am interested in. what i mean is, tearing down the old edifice only matters if you are prepared to build a new one, or at least, stand back and encourage others when they make the attempt. i am tired, very tired of skepticism without purpose, the skepticism of privilege, of erudite shit-talking, of the abandonment of earnestness. i don't know how to work out the difference between the lessons of experience and the (useless) self-protection of cynicism, but i want to. i want to cast out everything that feeds my bitterness so that eventually it eats itself, having nothing else to consume.
and besides that i miss inquiry. i miss standing in some text or situation with my heart open, with my brain waiting, less full of caveats, asterisk and qualifications. i miss innocence. i want to learn the difference between it and naivety.
do not mistake me, i know there is no precipice, no point in the arc of life from here to there that will divulge the truths of forever. thankfully, i have never craved such a thing and do not now. i think it is because i believe (yes, have always believed) there is something within us, between us, that is enough, that deserves to be celebrated. unabashedly and with wonder.
i do not know its name or origin, i do not know whether it provides answers or has a purpose, but interestingly, i do not think i need to know these things in order to seek it. it is the experience that matters to me, the moments that i collect along the way that fill me up from head to toe, that let me exist in surprise and awe, in bewildered fascination and gratitude.
in fact, i have come to a point in my arc in which all that seems worthy is to seek them.