Reflections
Today, a truck blind-sided Chancellor Ann Lydecker’s car. She was driving to college through the heavy fog at approximately 6:30 and blew a stop sign because she couldn’t see it. I wonder if she saw the truck coming. She is dead.
To me this matter strikes me as profound. Death. I fear it greatly. And yet I do not feel at all when other people die. I do not feel some well of sadness open up in me, but what I feel is that in a day or two this thing shall fade. And this is what makes me glad. For Death is such a stupid thing, such a meaningless thing, that we all fear it as if it was the point….as if it was the great problem that we were put here to solve. When it’s life that we’re here to solve. Life.
And that ties right into my entry. Wasted life. Even a year. I think that I have never been so disheartened to suddenly realize how many failures and wastes of life I know. Don’t get me wrong. I do not pity the world or weep for it. Instead I sigh at it, with disappointment, the way a parent sighs at a child who has done something even the child knew was obviously wrong but did it anyway because the child is a fool. You may argue that children don’t know, but they always do. And I know, because I knew what was wrong and stupid, and I did not do it.
Don’t think I’m depressed either. I’m happier then I’ve been in a long time. So much is going on in my life all the time that sitting here typing is a release I haven’t had for awhile, a moment where I’ve had the time to think about what I want to write. Wow! Not for a long time.
So here’s the main portion of the entry, a little poem or prose piece. It is not nearly as GREAT as literature should be, but it’s still something of a catharsis for me, and that’s why I write much of my poetry.
Oh where do souls go?
Where does time stand still?
Is there an edge to the earth, a place to stand and glimpse
The expanse of space, filled with stars and galaxies swirling
Into the maelstrom of ever-passing life?
Is there a point in all this madness where the world began
And so, now turns there?
A place where time and life do not flow or ebb but remain still?
Ever quiet.
Just the slight sound of everything in the world merging.
Some might say that all men quest for this,
But that is not true, though many often do.
I quest for it, indeed, but not for me.
I quest for it for all those souls that have not gone
To find themselves and stake their claim in time and memory.
Whose names in the moment when they die will be nothing but letters on a cold unread page.
Harsh?
No, true. And even they will not read their name and their story.
For what was there to read but words that have no meaning?
And spent this way in time, like grains of sand passing through a hand
Are the reveries and joys of purpose and joy, of life itself.
All people do is live some may say. These some are wrong.
Not many people live. Many just wait to die. They breathe and dream
As dreamers do. And once when I had said that dreamers are the glory of the world
I painted myself foolish, but I have learned, like so many do not,
That dreaming is nothing if one does not do. If one does not do more then pick up
Some fragment of the puzzle and place it there and say,
I have tried, now let life fold the pieces in place.
If one does not do more then jump from the cliff towards the lake,
But has planned the run and the fall and the strike
And follows through and swings.
But they do not. They live to breathe and make more breathers.
And they say that one day we will cut down all the trees
That let us breathe to build the houses where these breathers
Die, and then there will be nothing left, and I hope it ends just that way,
A fitting fate for the wastes of life to waste the things that grant them the chance
To do more then kill themselves. But that is what they do.
Where do all the souls go?
And do they all follow the same path after they have been exhaled?
No.
Just a little poem. Not great, not too shabby. All cathartic and all non-structured and unpolished. But that’s me in a nutshell. People are such stupid fools.