Grappling With This


This is an attempt to grapple directly the demon by the horns, to look straight into the face of chaos and give to it name, to keep balanced and sane on the flurried crest of waves breaking in all directions. Keep things held within long enough, man, and suddenly you may find your self pushed, pulled, beaten, and probed by the outer world into shapes that are no longer your own. Here. This is mine, I take this moment into my gut to recreate myself in these words that come from the integrated depths and surfaces of the world that lies eternal within and lies infinitely varied and fleeting without.

You see, sometimes I just let the world, it pass, it passes, it flurry, it swirling all around and past and through and it’s like an invisible sand sifting through the fingers into the cosmic spread of desert . . . so I’ve got to speak, at some point eventually, compelled not even by vision or thought or some cohesive direction at all, but simply by extreme and dire NEED. I have to do this, I have to stop the world and offer this fragmented piece of myself imposed onto its stream, the moon of my self-desire wavering whole for fragments of time, before passing again through into the flux with the rest of it all. . . before I’ve got to do it again, redefine myself again, respeak the flame that burns quietly and hidden throughout my depths to be shot out into the light to spark so suddenly and spontaneously into the night.

If you think that this is a hobby, as I might even myself say if you asked me and I were forced to say what this is, then we would of course be mistaken. This is my life force, the stroke of strings that gives to the soundtrack of my days meaning. Because on the surface, I am nothing, and none of these things I do in the outer world mean much of anything. And deeper within, the cosmic dance begins to become more manifest, the colors, the fires, the intertwinement of space within form, a wall of moving pictures. This is a necessary and critical reckoning with what it is to live, and what it is to exist, and what it is to feel. This. Me. I. Now.

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

1 thought on “Grappling With This”

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