FINAL COLUMN

As We Pass

I do beg your pardon for the following selfish entry::

I was in the middle of writing a piece on the degradation of the English language through the poetics of the past (specifically on the use of the terms related to “touch” when describing emotions) when I lost her. And not just her, but what was to be a previously decided path of life. I was to move away, far away, to a brand new world filled with intrigue, beauty, love, and personal peace.

But alas, the stress that comes with loss pits some of us at the bottom/supply-side of the food-web, as prey, and sets the rest of us outside the system entirely…as foreign invasives without a suitable means of survival. Life in all it’s statuses never ceases to bombard us with adversity, manages to find ways to crumble the foundation of even our best laid plans. Without it, we would never know what it means to love, but as soon as we know it, it soon takes it all back. And sadly, you never know the meaning of your life, itself, until moments before it’s gone. This is a reality we all must face.

Every morning I wake up anticipating certain things… But those thoughts never make it passed the cerebral. There’s a distance, a divide between us, that seems closer & further depending on my mood. One moment she seems closer than she is, almost within grabbing distance, while at other times she feels worlds away.

While my best laid plans have crumbled beneath my feet, I continue my journey, knowing that someday our paths will cross again. This comforts me. I will always think of you… And no matter what the resolve–no matter how sad, hurt, longing, or happy our memories may be–they are what they are…and I love them for that.

Tags: distance, journey, life, longing, loss, lost, love, mom, new, selfish

The Sacrifice

The cogs are in motion for a full-scale catastrophe. Some will gaze at the debacle in disbelief, jaws dropped to the floor, while drawing breath in short anticipatory pants. I shall hence forth refer to such onlookers as the “bewildered rationalist,” never before have I seen a powder keg the size & likes of this. A potential quagmire, a chimera, the end of days. For some of us anyway…the rest will be saved. Praise Jeebus!

Others will look upon the scene and hold it as a time for celebration. They’ll kneel in their churches & temples, dance in the streets, and exhaust the supplies of large banquet halls.

The sprockets keep on turning, keep on spinning, keep on turning…as though they never remembered having sat idle. And amidst the commotion, a son of Adam and a daughter of Eve will throw themselves into the gears. Like self-sacrificial lambs…the fools. They offer their lives to ages of tradition, standards, conventions–all those irrationalities that distinct man from beast. Indeed any choice dictated by the unnatural order of things is the failure of the cognizant. The failure to recognize our own mammility.

It is a ceremonius event, this holy offering. I, myself, was recently afforded the opportunity to bear witness to one such events from an honored position. I, a bewildered rationalist, was chosen to wear the traditional sacrificial vestments and watch as my life-long friend took the plunge. And while I was flattered to be chosen to bear witness, I just didn’t get it at first. I resisted…and this was the motivation for this piece. It wasn’t until I saw a single tear in my dear friend’s eye, and saw how he gave one last look to his family, his friends, and the life he’d built, that it all made sense to me.

It wasn’t a tear of sadness, not likes the ones we often shed (either out of emotion or for show) but rather a tear of joy and satisfaction. How often can we honestly shed those types of tears?! A tear of both jubilation and content. 

Then it all made sense–we do this because if we don’t, we deny ourselves our humanity. And if we don’t have that, we have nothing for which to aspire. And, so as to carry on in Socratic Method, if we have nothing for which to aspire, then we no purpose outside of carrying on the species.  And that’s a sad thought.

Perhaps someday this bewildered rationalist will join rank.  Perhaps someday, I will take the plunge.  In fact, I know that someday I too will gladly hurl myself into the mills of humanity.

Tags: cogs, rationalist, sacrifice, wedding