To control the way that water flows
Some years ago, I listened to Garrison Keilor give a short Keilor-style dissertation on men, on men and flowing water. Mr. Keilor suggested that there comes a time of year when men want to control the way that water flows. It could be a hose in the yard. It could be peeing in the parking lot. It could be a pond in our garden. There comes a time when we wish to control the flow of water.
Our power is a fragile thing, full of the everything and absence of everything with which we choose to imbue it. The same man can be the envy of a 500-person crowd or the most pitiful specimen in a 20-person bar. We are what we make of ourselves, of the water, the essence, the life which flows through us.
At the end of the day, our energy defines us. However preoccupied we, ourselves, may be, whether it be with the attractiveness or unatractiveness of our form, we define ourselves in story. We choose to be complex or to be simple. We choose to be proud, or to be weak, or to live in that most terrifyingly vulnerable of states which defines the everyday. We choose, moment by moment, to embrace that which defines us, that which makes us unique and whole, and hope that in so doing we may find the poem which ends the search.
I look for that which completes me. For the other half to a soul. There must be someone for whom the love of life transcends that which is merely pretty, who has the confidence to express joy in the face of banality, who will respond with hope when I feel the most despair. There must be someone who believes that all stories are true, that at the center of that which is most confusing must be the most true, that connection is more than a word to describe convenience.
There are days when I live and love at the will of the word. When the spirit flows through me and it takes all I have not to speak, not to share my innermost thoughts with those at bus-station and metro-train, when I struggle to contain the power of that which manifests at my surface. There are days when my depths rebel, and it is all I can do to remain calm. The world is not shallow, look for those who see its depths, for in those depths lie the greatest mysteries.
There is that which transcends the moment, connection which continues to provide even in the absence of communication, that which changes us merely because we know it is. We act on the surface, but we react much more deeply. I'm expected in Greenbelt, and I should go. Much love to you all. May that which sneaks upon you in the night be answered with your morning kiss.
Much love,
-Jeremiah
Our power is a fragile thing, full of the everything and absence of everything with which we choose to imbue it. The same man can be the envy of a 500-person crowd or the most pitiful specimen in a 20-person bar. We are what we make of ourselves, of the water, the essence, the life which flows through us.
At the end of the day, our energy defines us. However preoccupied we, ourselves, may be, whether it be with the attractiveness or unatractiveness of our form, we define ourselves in story. We choose to be complex or to be simple. We choose to be proud, or to be weak, or to live in that most terrifyingly vulnerable of states which defines the everyday. We choose, moment by moment, to embrace that which defines us, that which makes us unique and whole, and hope that in so doing we may find the poem which ends the search.
I look for that which completes me. For the other half to a soul. There must be someone for whom the love of life transcends that which is merely pretty, who has the confidence to express joy in the face of banality, who will respond with hope when I feel the most despair. There must be someone who believes that all stories are true, that at the center of that which is most confusing must be the most true, that connection is more than a word to describe convenience.
There are days when I live and love at the will of the word. When the spirit flows through me and it takes all I have not to speak, not to share my innermost thoughts with those at bus-station and metro-train, when I struggle to contain the power of that which manifests at my surface. There are days when my depths rebel, and it is all I can do to remain calm. The world is not shallow, look for those who see its depths, for in those depths lie the greatest mysteries.
There is that which transcends the moment, connection which continues to provide even in the absence of communication, that which changes us merely because we know it is. We act on the surface, but we react much more deeply. I'm expected in Greenbelt, and I should go. Much love to you all. May that which sneaks upon you in the night be answered with your morning kiss.
Much love,
-Jeremiah