polo
Shuffling papers around on my desk, I found some chickenscratch I wrote one night:
Does the paper beg for the ink? Our ears, beg for a music worth hearing?
We live to be impressed and impressed upon.
I wonder if it makes any sense. Are we lovers, first and foremost? Appreciators? Evaluators? I’d suggest we’re designers, but maybe that’s too proud, maybe I have to take another look at that.
Maybe the process of design is an unconscious one. Perhaps, in our hearts, we have (unbeknownst) drawn up and worked through, blueprinted and printed out, the square holes, as it were… and we spend what little time we have in life chasing down the square pegs to fit them.
Perhaps we are not the artists, maybe we don’t have the pens. Maybe we are the echoes, maybe we are the resonance and the audience of the world, and we are dull, unlit, un-cast.. because we are the un-ready for the play and fancy of life.
Maybe we are the actors, living in constant audition… and not the makers of the script.
And why not? We spend an awful lot of time asking that age old question, Who am I? Trying to find ourselves, discover ourselves. Maybe this is just a prolonged, deranged game of marco polo, and we wander around, in and into darkness, looking for our place in the forest and our part to play?
It suits me fine to think of this, because it seems to be one of my thoughts.
And yet, with all the souls and hearts and minds of this world wandering about, the lonely crowd, faceless until painted upon… I sit silent, I knelt, and I waited.
And without a word, or a call, or a wonder, or a while, when I opened my eyes, so did she. And we are nose to nose, heartbeat to heartbeat, sitting in the rain… and I kiss the rainwater off her lips, as I intend to continue to do for as long as she’ll let me.
And now I know who I am, and who I intend to be.
Can we have an echo if we’ve never bothered to speak?
I think learning to share our silence is the true face of love.
~ Driz
ex movere 
Maybe/perhaps, those words are so nice sometimes and so cruel sometimes.
I prefer the above union to that of nothing/everything because it allows for a decision or at least a variance, an uncertainty, something that appeals to my devils, although I suspect it’s all the same thing anyway. No way to prove that. No way yet.
I appreciate this piece. Also, I got through two thirds of the emotional disobedience (though I imagine I’ve read it before), before it became too overwhelming. I’ll try again next time.
If, we assert for a moment here, we are not so prideful to be speaking so gently about absolutes, and we discuss maybe/perhaps and nothing/everything just where it should be discussed (in the context of the individual)… then I think maybe, and perhaps, we can find a nothing and end everything worth hanging our hat on.
I think maybe and perhaps are perhaps a preference, a sort of good conscience and fine taste, a way to sample and sommelier the fine ideas we drink in let flavour our food and substances.
I think the sort of someone who can prefer a maybe is a sort of someone who’ll find that his nothings and everythings carry with them a lot more weight and nobility when taken in hand and applied.
If you’re a man who keeps maybe as a close friend, to speak of nothing and everything at random and with vigour will, perhaps, give you a brief moment with the pen in hand, and let you make a moment that affects and commands someone else to echo back, to call ‘Polo!’, in return, and be changed through and loved by that reflection.
I think our nothings and everythings might be something we earn and grow into through a life of humble service to, and gnashed-maw battling with, and compromising against the grey areas and the blank spaces between the lines.
I’m glad you continue to comment, thank you for your time and your patience. I don’t always find the heart or the words to keep writing, so it’s ever so nice to be reminded that someone might actually take something away from all this.
~ Driz