Monday, January 2, 2012
Ugly Beauty in the Rearview Mirror
Do you know the Tristan Rêveur quote about bad art? It's "bad art is more tragically beautiful than good art 'cause it documents human failure." - Ryan Gosling "Stay"
Sometimes, I like to sit in the driver’s seat and look into the rearview mirror. It’s almost like watching a bad documentary. However, it is my life and I enjoy the lessons I learn and am learning. The lessons are my cocoon, but they allow me to spread my wings and fly. But, they also ground me. I sit in motion and the reflection drives me back to a place and a loneliness I don’t want to visit again. Solitude was my only comrade. Everyone had abandoned me. I reached out the door, wanting to be saved, and there was not one hand that sought mine in return. Darkness held my hand. But, now I am in a space that the past is only distant memories. The reflection of the past pulls away in the rearview mirror and I notice I am unable to see the man I used to be. People look different to me. Their skin looks softer.
Truth be told, we are all homeless and looking for a heart to lay their sorrows on so to lessen the weight of the daily struggle. I unsure why people look down those who live on the street. They work too. We all work to survive. And surviving is more tumultuous than giving up. The reality is this state of being is not our home. “We live alone and die alone. Everything in between is an illusion.“ So, what it the point of the struggle? I don't want them to struggle any longer. The point is we neither struggle to live or live to struggle. We live and we experience.
Webster’s Dictionary states, “Experience is the totality of the cognitions given by perception; all that is perceived, understood, and remembered.” There is no point, other than to live. But, while we are here we might as well say something. What do you have to say? I want to say, “I love you and I don‘t want to see you struggle.” I want to share with the world the words I feel scaling the walls in my head in the morning when I experience my first breath. I want to breathe this breath into the world. I don’t want to simply observe my breath aimlessly go everywhere, but nowhere. I want to draw with my breath the shadows that create images of ugly beauty or beautiful ugliness because both are my reality.
The memories of yesteryear are not me. The memories that I squeeze from my hippocampus and or front lobe are confirmation that I am a new man. I cannot change your perspective on the way you see me, but change can help you realize you are new too. As the wheels turn, my eyes see change outside the windows. I can remember when I once looked out the window. I was only able to view recorded shadows on repeat. My whole life has changed since love shook me awake. Love has pulled my eyelids up like Venetian blinds. In my eyes are the world and forces of life allow me to see the light and the infinite possibilities that exist in my soul’s open windows. I am. I am able to focus on the road in front me.