Tuesday, July 23, 2013

And Saw The

   ...and saw
The god of writers rushing to record
The names of each and everyone who died,
Ashes impregnated with human souls
Who couldn't save each other or themselves
In never-ending wars compounded by
Oblivion. Mortal forgetfulness.

- Gjertrude Schnakenberg, "Bedtime Mahabharata"

* * *

We forget don't we? We forget and so lose our way. It isn't that we don't know how to live, but we forget to because the way is seemingly hard and there's all this oblivion surrounding us. So we forget and we pretend the new car is proof of living, that the shit shoveled our way at the places we work or the shoddy relationships we have actually tastes fine. just fine. We paper over the holes in our souls because to confront them would be to see all the time wasted, the love turned to dust and still we sail on - Everything is fine. All that could be done has been done. What more is there to do?

Here's what's more: you can remember.

* * *

The god of writers rushing to record every name of everyone who has died is a beautiful, beautiful image. In a single moment the god sees the breadth and depth of our human desiring, the dreams and sins and failures and heroic acts and the love exchanged like children sharing their delight in iridescent sea shells - passing them back and forth as secret treasure. And in that moment he sees it is too late to record all the names, to tell all the stories. He breaks off one of his tusks and uses it to write the names of all and even for a god it cannot be done. It is too much, we are too many and he has seen this vision too late. Here the god of writers broke his pen.

So who will write your name?

It falls to you, my brother. It falls to you, my sister. It was always yours to do. You've just been forgetting.

* * *

There is no meaning to life. There is the experience of it. That's its meaning - to experience it. Each of us will experience it differently. There will be things we share in common, broad categories of experience - new life, illness, motion, death - but you will know life differently than I will because your eyes, your experiences, your expectations will filter the world just for you. The road you travel is just that: yours. You cannot walk another's path and call it your life. You have to enter your life where there is no path, no road, no markings. You are the one who has to live it, you see. If you take off down the wide boulevards of religions and politics and commerce you might have a very fine, comfortable way of it, but you'll have missed the experience of living your life. Now it may be that your unique path includes religion or politics or commerce, but you cannot call it your life unless you make the decisions.

There is an idea that says: the universe created itself so it could know itself, could have the experience of being itself. The same atoms that are in the stars above us travel in our blood as well. We are the universe. We are, individually, the universe. We are part and whole at the same time. And our lives, these ashes impregnated with human souls, are the chance for the universe, for God to experience and know itself in the field of time.

Just like you and me.

We have but one life and one life won't do. Our task is not the accumulation of wealth, but the accumulation of experiencing life, our lives, the singular expression of life that is held in our name. We fuck ourselves when we forget this, when we substitute the experience of being alive for the experience our time, our culture, our society expects from us.

Yes, you are of this time and place, but, no, you are something more than this time and this place. You are the unceasing Now, the everpresent moment to live. Do not, like Ganesha, see it too late. Tell your story. Live it out. If you don't, no one else will and the universe will have lost a chance to know itself.

* * *

Boom. Boom. Boom.


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