There is no solution to “feeling empty” as the problem does not exist. “Feeling empty” denotes the absence of some existential state of being or mind. This existential state of being or mind requires a status quo, a baseline. But there is no status quo or baseline as our physical existence is purely circumstantial, without inherent meaning beyond that derived from the random events of evolution. Therefore there is no problem of “feeling empty” as there is no such existential state of “fulfillment” from which to fall into “feeling empty”. So what am I feeling? Is this the curse of consciousness? Of being able to create or imagine states of being that do not or cannot exist? Is it possible to just be? Must one be non sentient to achieve pure being?
The Bee
Why doth the little frantic bee
Scurry so frenetically,
And seek a light which holds no hope
While it loses all its strength?
What will the poor bee feel
When at last leg of night and will,
It must lay itself upon the ground
And succumb to the cold and the dark?
5/27/10
On “following your heart”
I read a note today, to follow your heart. It made me wonder how do you know what your heart is telling you? How do you decipher what your passions and interests are in a world so vast and varied. I have found that I can hardly maintain a single focus in my life as I am constantly being pulled every which way. Maybe it is more a testament to who I am as a person rather than who we are as beings, but it sure as hell makes “following one’s heart” difficult. “Where does my heart lie?” I ask you. And is its resting spot immutable? Or does it shift constantly, randomly.
I often wonder if those individuals who profess to having found their calling are lying to themselves. How can one be so fixated on one aspect of life to have no interest in anything else? I can only imagine it takes a great narrow-mindedness that is absolutely foreign to me. Yet I cannot discount the possibility that perhaps these individuals are not tricking themselves. It may very well be that they have found some peace and are happy. If that is the case I suppose I ought to be jealous. But I’m not sure that I am. I feel that so much is lost in living such a life.
In order to explore this question I suppose I would have to explore the minds of countless people. Naturally, I have a hunch that the most enlightening perspectives will come from those who have lived the longest. Having experienced so much and, hopefully, explored their curiosities, they will help me understand this question of what it means to follow ones heart. It means little to me at my age, but I don’t think age should necessarily be the deciding factor in ones wisdom. Even with that notion though, I wonder how an individual in their twenties can say such a thing as “follow you heart”. But I guess if I can sit here and ponder its meaning (being in my twenties myself), it is entirely possible. And truthful at that.
4/5/10
Charity for a fly
Funny stuff here.
I was wandering about the field when I came about a lonely fly,
Flitting about looking for food.
There were, unfortunately, no corpses on which it might alight,
So taking pity I laid myself upon the nearest patch of posies and set about dying.
I hope the fly had a decent feast, thereafter.
—
Oh dear sir, you have been so kind
To lay upon the swollen earth
And set yourself to die.
You are truly magnificent
In your humor and your charity,
For not many a beast would allow oneself
The pleasure of self-deceasement.
Your selfless valor and kindness
Has brought me new joy and fervor,
How I might repay you
Is entirely beyond my meager abilities.
Perhaps in laying a few soft eggs
In your decaying corpse,
My new temple amid a rotting world,
I can finally pay homage to you and your kind.
Please take my humble gift,
Accept it as the greatest honor one may bestow,
And set out on your next journey
With a wink and a smile.
Yours truly,
That lonely fly.
Beyond tranquility
A line, infinite, steady and straight flows across a plane, three dimensional and soft, with no true horizon. The line,
black as night, moving without moving, collides with itself, or is it another? A mass of squiggles
erupts, chaotic but oddly comforting, and then once again the line bursts forth, or is it another? This line disappears
out of my field of vision, but I’m calm. I see the planes horizon, which is not a
horizon, soft and nearly fuzzy. A sense of tranquility envelopes me, invades me, infects me. In those fleeting
moments I know truth, truth without meaning, without reason. Truth without
truth. Inescapable. But I do not wish to escape, I wish to stay, to wander, to wonder.
This is all, incomprehensible but still so simple, so pure. A world, a plane, a line. Black, white. Then I, the
only color, devoid of color, I see myself while I am myself, watching, seeing,
experiencing, knowing and not knowing, wishing it not to end. But it must, it does, lost in my
void. Such is my dream.
8/7/07
Frantic state of mind
Rambling… rambling… rambling… incessant rambling. The thoughts race through my head, recurring again and again, yelling why? Why? How could you? My world is crashing down out of an instant, falling apart in every which direction, leaving me suspended, buoyed, bouncing around in the void. The world outside, it’s untouchable. They see me. But they don’t really see me. They see something of me, a part of me, a part that I cannot see. I know it’s there, I know it exists, but I just can’t see it. It’s their perspective, their eyes, their minds. Their method of transcription, of translation. I don’t think I can affect it. No. I don’t know how to affect it. I am just here, in this void. Suspended. Buoyed. Bouncing. My world reintegrates. I am solid once again. No. My world seems solid once again. Yes. I feel angry winds. What have I done? I know not what I do. Please. Forgive me. Forgive my ignorance. My inabilities. I know not. I know. But I not. I cannot. I am afraid. I do not wish to return, but I do. Always but. Always continue. Always feel and be confused. Always not understand. Always shudder at myself. Always think too much. Think thoughtless thoughts. Repeat. Repeat and repeat. Stop it. I can’t. They won’t stop. Thoughts, they are incessant. They don’t give me time to transcribe. They’re too fast. Here one moment. Gone the next. A wisp. Ephemeral. I want them. I want them. Please slow down, please calm down. Everything may not be all right, but who cares. Should I care? Am I right to care? Who am I? Does it matter? Who am I supposed to be? Should it matter? Where do I go? Why can I not go? Let me go. Let myself go. I cannot. I am trapped. I have trapped myself. Where am I? What am I? What do I do?
A marriage, a chimp, and a lost phone
I don’t remember who was getting married, or why, when, or where, but I do vaguely remember the chimp. No one had told me what the purpose of the chimp was but they had wanted it so there it was, in the church, a member of the congregation. The chimp was unsettling to me, being more human-like than normal. Her big black eyes bore holes through my skull every time she looked at me. But what was I going to do? It was their wedding and I would just have to put up with it.
To be honest I am not even sure why they invited me to their wedding. The bride’s parents were not particularly fond of me although they maintained a polite demeanor. As I slipped in, late of course, and sought a seat on the empty left side of the church the bride’s father turned to me sharply and motioned for me to sit on the right side.
“That side is for the guests”, he explained. What guests? I thought to myself. Were we not guests? I got the notion from him that the true guests would be the random visitors passing through for the spectacle. Inevitably the left side remained empty for most of the wedding and aside from drawing some attention to myself for making noise the wedding was nondescript.
It was after the wedding, when my friends and I were making our way down the streets, that I suddenly realized I no longer had my phone. I had a phone on me but when I had pulled it out of my pocket I saw that it how somehow been swapped. My first thought was that the two boys we had sprinted from, specifically out of fear that they were going to try and steal our phones, had somehow managed to sneak a hand in my pocket and switched it. I felt a wave of anxiety begin to work its way over me as I considered all I had lost along with that phone. I wanted it back, I needed it back, and my friends did not seem to care.
Of course, those two boys might not have stolen my phone. Perhaps I had dropped it on leaving the church, or I could have accidentally picked up the wrong phone. I began retracing my steps in the hopes of finding it lying on the sidewalk and while I did manage to find two others that looked similar to mine, I had no luck.
When I finally arrived at the church again the doors had been shut and the lights turned out. The wedding was now over and the church, once relatively lively, seemed barren and sad. I peered in through the small door window and looked at the pitch black of the church’s interior. I guess I was not going to get my phone. As I began to leave I heard a soft murmur emanate from the back of the church. I peered in through the small window again and saw a small figure slowly appear from the blackness behind it. It was the chimp, her massive black eyes looking up at me beggingly. I felt that great unease again, and as she got closer to the door her short stature disappeared underneath the sill of the little window. I had had enough and turning around I left without another thought.
don't listen to me. 