September 20, 2010

• Whence this world of souls

  Nostalgia lets us know that life is beautiful.

  Because I remember the snow falling down the windshield, the feel of death and grayness in the wintry world all around, but a serene beauty within because we got to live, and now we know each other.  We are always living on the same earth, but we pass from world to world.

  Can you find out later on that you were never really in a relationship you thought you were in?  I think so.  If someone misinterprets who you are, they cannot properly said to be in relationship with you.  Certainly something is to be said for the fact that they were around your body, and heard your words, but of you they knew nothing—you were but a book written on another planet in a language they could never learn.

  One of the worst things you can do to a person is read into their actions the worst of intentions.

  I always imagine a black space, and in that black space is everyone I have ever known.  They exist there in some ethereal form, not the form we live in here, where our bodies reveal us imperfectly, as cracked windows.  This is the person as they truly are, as they make decisions, and think their most honest thoughts.  And before them I am, and our relationship is perfectly clear, unlike on earth where it is always a thought off to the side.  This is where you can truly rejoice at those you have connected with, and fall to your knees before those whom you’ve wronged.  For there everything is laid bare in the unadulterated stillness of souls before one another in a world of blackness. 

  And yet if there we saw those we wronged, would we be able to fall to our knees?  With no distractions, would our bitterness leave?  If the blurry and particularized world of objects faded away, would we bring our souls to perfection?  For we know that we should love, but we want so badly to hate; do we not writhe with agony in the moment of decision?

  That is the world that lurks beneath this one, a hidden world of the decisions of souls, beneath the words and smiles, the strangers walking down the street, the houses lit with parties, the governments meeting in illustrious halls, the back alleys filled with those truly in need and those crazed with want, those meeting at coffee shops, libraries filled with our thoughts, the beds of lovers, and everywhere else we go and everything else we do.  History is a creation where souls work out their fates, and we have found ourselves amidst its pages.  It is a soft and subtle, but if you listen closely, you can hear within yourself the thoughts of death and the thoughts of salvation; but live in hope, the truth is not far from each one of us.

  And how can all this pass by unnoticed?  Let it never be said to us,

  The world was made from nothing, and you have made nothing of it.

  • 11:10 pm
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