Early Arrivals and Late Departures

Insomnia = blog post!

Trickling through the latticed filters of my mind is the truth, the reality, the bare unspeakable raw edge that is everything and nothing. Cutting and shadowing. The barriers between my self and this empty plenty are not so easily shed. They accumulate, they stack upon themselves until those few occasional moments that forcefully sweep them all away. Death does this. Deep ecstasy does this. And all of the smaller flexes and bends that serve to keep me flitting from day to day. Contemplation, dance, drink, conversation.

How tightly we hold onto our illusions! Thinking that we are keeping ourselves safe we only increase our danger. We cover our eyes as if that would make us invisible. We cower behind easy definitions, behind given lines of thought, behind someone else’s design.

The world, of course, is ours. Ours to create, ours to destroy. Ours to allow to dwindle into mediocrity. Ours to discover ourselves discovering.

It is easy to get caught up in manufactured beauty. To think that if everyone is all sniffing at the same tree, then there must be something. There must be some reason that the world functions as it does, why all people so easily fall into place in lines, as objects, as subjects, in patterns and predictable rates.

It is hard to seek the beauty that exists unknowable, incapable of capture.  To seek the understanding that is without scribe. The very journey towards such efforts has already been doomed by its own seeking.

I analyze the world at the detriment of my own necessary demise. It is I who must be crumbled, I who must be scattered, I who must wrenchingly be given to the universe like a sky spread out under the stars. There can be no expectation of this. There can be nothing but blind and senseless hope in my mind, and open wonder and hunger in my heart. All of the world will flow, wend, stomp, shove its way through, one way or another. I will be the road leading the way from myself.


Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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