After a brief/long hiatus...
Hello all- I have been absent for quite some time and for that, I apologize. Not sincerely, but enough to cover my bases.
Anyhoo- my life? Not exactly riveting, but enough has happened to tell a decent story, I suppose.
So where to begin? Under normal circumstances, I would claim the beginning to be a great place to start, however that would be an entirely too long post for me to logically try to retell.
I guess I should begin with today- a moment of true revelation, or at least that's what my best judgement told me. Maybe it was the priming from the nights previous of watching Love, Actually and Notting Hill almost back to back. Maybe it was just due for me to actually release. Maybe I just really am the squishy emotional guy I thought I once was but had lost. Either way, today, I was reading a story- a picture book actually. I wasn't reading the book for fun, I don't go around checking out kids books for a bit of casual reading. A research project for one of my classes was assigned and I have to read around 50 books for the project- all of which must be picture books and all of which must be about death. I didn't go into the assignment thinking that it would be all fun and joy, but I didn't expect what wait for me at the end of "Goodbye, Mousie." Oh yes- it sounds all well and good- pretty pictures and easy to understand words. Let me tell you though- even the most rudimentary subject matter and words can pack a large punch. I wasn't halfway through "Goodbye, Mousie," when I was fully in tears unable to see the words on the page in front of me.
There was just something about a boy denying the fact that his pet mouse was dead. When realizing that he truly was gone, he buries the mouse with its favorite things: 2 full carrots, 4 grapes, a picture of the boy, a chocolate bar, and an old t-shirt. Simply reading this brought tears to my eyes, but I think what made the cup truly runneth over was when the boy took an old piece of wood, for the headstone of the gravesite, and carved "MOUSIE is RIGHT HERE!" into the wood. After that, I think I was a bumbling fool.
I would love to blame both love story movies for priming me up for an emotional break-down, yet I don't think that truly is the reason. After all, something like that, when someone is truly happy would only make them happier for they themselves see what they have. I think, seeing as I don't have that kind of thing in my life, I don't see that. I only see the converse- rather, what I don't have- what I wish I had.
I guess that brings me to my other revelation- or at least one that I have had many times before now. This elusive, ever present, always at your fingertips, derisive, appealing thing that everyone calls love. This is something that always calls to us- a thing that, as humans demands that we pursue- yet if we do, we run the risk of becoming a hedonist in the process. Such a fine line is drawn between love and passion, and lust and pleasure. So how do we know it when we see it?
Is it a breathless moment when you see that person from across a room? Like, a single spot-light comes down from the sky above, every other face fades from your vision and the only one you can see, the only thing that makes sense, is her. When all sound ceases and you have only the beat of your heart as your cadence- and forever you have an imprint of the first time you ever saw her.
Or is it when you and her are alone for the first time, still awkward, both still not knowing exactly what to say? She lets you lay your head in her lap knowing that you are frustrated, sad, and confused by the world around you. Then as if to know the remedy to your mysterious sickness sings a beautiful song to your ever-strengthening body. The melody soothes your mind and heals your heart, is it then, as you lay in her lap, in that moment of pure ecstasy that you have found love?
Or is it when purely serendipidous fate brings you together, over and over? Is it when no matter how hard you try to leave, how hard you avoid her, she somehow always penetrates the second life you have created to protect yourself. Is that vigilance provided by life and fate itself, proof enough that love still lingers on?
Or could it be that no matter how hard you have tried to be there, to show that you will always be there, show that you will always care, and yet your efforts remain unrequited- is that agonizing existence what it is to love?
Or is love a cruel game? Does it give you a taste of what you should have and then let the harshness of reality take its toll? Does love let you find out that what you desire cannot be yours for some time, or does it let you have it and then take it away unexpectedly, or does it promise you a future and then alter that path as you walk it, or does it show you light at the end of the tunnel only to obstruct the way with impassable walls? Why then, why, is something so desired by every human on this planet so impeccably difficult to get?
We make it that way. We have all been so trained to be hardened, we all treat each other so poorly and take each other for granted so often that none of really ever feels loved. Every person has expectations for another- what they should look like, what they should eat, how they should feel, what their reactions should be, what their actions should be. That is why I, a full-grown man, feels awkward about crying over a children's book when the subject matter is that which everyone in this existence should shed a tear over- the loss of a loved one. When there exists such a bond as love between two living things and that bond is broken, either by death or by choice, not one person connected should resist shedding a tear. Such a loss is heart-breaking.
So- with that I propose a vow. A vow that is simple yet intolerably difficult to uphold: Open yourself. Be ready to love at the chance, be open to taking a chance when it rears itself, and trust that if you let yourself fall, someone will be there to catch you. If nobody catches you, fear not, you'll always have your ass to fall on. That and your parents. You are never alone in this world; either by experience or by friendship, someone is there to pick up your broken pieces should you be too weak to collect them yourself. Rest not in comfort in safety- those things that seem safe and comfortable are often the one thing that denies us our very basic and primal passion: Love. Love is a risk, and if you feel everyday like you aren't out there on a limb almost ready to fall off, then you aren't in Love.
Chaos is good- It's what keeps our universe spinning. Love ya'll. Night.
Anyhoo- my life? Not exactly riveting, but enough has happened to tell a decent story, I suppose.
So where to begin? Under normal circumstances, I would claim the beginning to be a great place to start, however that would be an entirely too long post for me to logically try to retell.
I guess I should begin with today- a moment of true revelation, or at least that's what my best judgement told me. Maybe it was the priming from the nights previous of watching Love, Actually and Notting Hill almost back to back. Maybe it was just due for me to actually release. Maybe I just really am the squishy emotional guy I thought I once was but had lost. Either way, today, I was reading a story- a picture book actually. I wasn't reading the book for fun, I don't go around checking out kids books for a bit of casual reading. A research project for one of my classes was assigned and I have to read around 50 books for the project- all of which must be picture books and all of which must be about death. I didn't go into the assignment thinking that it would be all fun and joy, but I didn't expect what wait for me at the end of "Goodbye, Mousie." Oh yes- it sounds all well and good- pretty pictures and easy to understand words. Let me tell you though- even the most rudimentary subject matter and words can pack a large punch. I wasn't halfway through "Goodbye, Mousie," when I was fully in tears unable to see the words on the page in front of me.
There was just something about a boy denying the fact that his pet mouse was dead. When realizing that he truly was gone, he buries the mouse with its favorite things: 2 full carrots, 4 grapes, a picture of the boy, a chocolate bar, and an old t-shirt. Simply reading this brought tears to my eyes, but I think what made the cup truly runneth over was when the boy took an old piece of wood, for the headstone of the gravesite, and carved "MOUSIE is RIGHT HERE!" into the wood. After that, I think I was a bumbling fool.
I would love to blame both love story movies for priming me up for an emotional break-down, yet I don't think that truly is the reason. After all, something like that, when someone is truly happy would only make them happier for they themselves see what they have. I think, seeing as I don't have that kind of thing in my life, I don't see that. I only see the converse- rather, what I don't have- what I wish I had.
I guess that brings me to my other revelation- or at least one that I have had many times before now. This elusive, ever present, always at your fingertips, derisive, appealing thing that everyone calls love. This is something that always calls to us- a thing that, as humans demands that we pursue- yet if we do, we run the risk of becoming a hedonist in the process. Such a fine line is drawn between love and passion, and lust and pleasure. So how do we know it when we see it?
Is it a breathless moment when you see that person from across a room? Like, a single spot-light comes down from the sky above, every other face fades from your vision and the only one you can see, the only thing that makes sense, is her. When all sound ceases and you have only the beat of your heart as your cadence- and forever you have an imprint of the first time you ever saw her.
Or is it when you and her are alone for the first time, still awkward, both still not knowing exactly what to say? She lets you lay your head in her lap knowing that you are frustrated, sad, and confused by the world around you. Then as if to know the remedy to your mysterious sickness sings a beautiful song to your ever-strengthening body. The melody soothes your mind and heals your heart, is it then, as you lay in her lap, in that moment of pure ecstasy that you have found love?
Or is it when purely serendipidous fate brings you together, over and over? Is it when no matter how hard you try to leave, how hard you avoid her, she somehow always penetrates the second life you have created to protect yourself. Is that vigilance provided by life and fate itself, proof enough that love still lingers on?
Or could it be that no matter how hard you have tried to be there, to show that you will always be there, show that you will always care, and yet your efforts remain unrequited- is that agonizing existence what it is to love?
Or is love a cruel game? Does it give you a taste of what you should have and then let the harshness of reality take its toll? Does love let you find out that what you desire cannot be yours for some time, or does it let you have it and then take it away unexpectedly, or does it promise you a future and then alter that path as you walk it, or does it show you light at the end of the tunnel only to obstruct the way with impassable walls? Why then, why, is something so desired by every human on this planet so impeccably difficult to get?
We make it that way. We have all been so trained to be hardened, we all treat each other so poorly and take each other for granted so often that none of really ever feels loved. Every person has expectations for another- what they should look like, what they should eat, how they should feel, what their reactions should be, what their actions should be. That is why I, a full-grown man, feels awkward about crying over a children's book when the subject matter is that which everyone in this existence should shed a tear over- the loss of a loved one. When there exists such a bond as love between two living things and that bond is broken, either by death or by choice, not one person connected should resist shedding a tear. Such a loss is heart-breaking.
So- with that I propose a vow. A vow that is simple yet intolerably difficult to uphold: Open yourself. Be ready to love at the chance, be open to taking a chance when it rears itself, and trust that if you let yourself fall, someone will be there to catch you. If nobody catches you, fear not, you'll always have your ass to fall on. That and your parents. You are never alone in this world; either by experience or by friendship, someone is there to pick up your broken pieces should you be too weak to collect them yourself. Rest not in comfort in safety- those things that seem safe and comfortable are often the one thing that denies us our very basic and primal passion: Love. Love is a risk, and if you feel everyday like you aren't out there on a limb almost ready to fall off, then you aren't in Love.
Chaos is good- It's what keeps our universe spinning. Love ya'll. Night.