Dim chandelier awaken me
To a song dissolved in the dawn
The music hall a costly bow
The music all is lost for now
To a muted trumpeter swan
Columnated ruins domino
– Surf’s Up (Brian Wilson & Van Dyke Parks)
I have an idea, but it begs the following questions:
Why is it easier to make a mess of some things than to just sort them out in the first place?
Why is it harder to achieve greatness than mediocrity?
Why is it easier to say ‘no’ than ‘yes’?
Why is it easier to go nowhere and do nothing than to set out on an adventure?
Why do so many adventures we set out on come up short?
Why do things implode with less intensity than they explode?
These are the types of questions equally raised by the hopeful and the hopeless; the dreamers and the depressed. They are part and parcel of the same enigmatic shaded overtones of our existence, and fail to answer what we are supposed to do with it.
Yes, many people have pondered the ‘meaning of life’. Some have postulated carefully crafted answers, while others have just posited more conjecture. When members of these two camps of thinking meet, terms like ‘primordial soup’, ‘existentialism’ and ‘life after death’ are slung around like hash on a sizzling griddle. Someone shouts ‘you think you know everything!’ An incredulous gasp is exfoliated from the lips of the brow beaten. A pregnant pause is enjoyed by all. Some ask for donations.
Pandemonium ensues as more questions are eventually raised. Meanwhile, a mass of masses amass momentarily before going about their business. This throng of the ‘tall and the small’ are advised to seek sage and solace from:
- the clergy and the cleric,
- the physicist and the alchemist,
- the healer and the savior,
- the ‘child, father of the man’.
A false prophet steps forward. A hush is heard as a child cries out “but he isn’t wearing anything at all!” Stones fly. Am I heretical to ask why we are constantly looking for more than there actually is and why we are not content?
Why do we have to build a better mousetrap? It seems to me in so many ways we are constantly working against ourselves, banging our individual heads against a collective wall. Is it that we don’t know what we want, or is it that we know exactly what we want but can’t get it? Does all this mental masturbation yield the reality that we might all be hungry sadomasochists?
When we put our best foot forward, we inevitably learn that the other is left behind. The mandate “do your best!” dilutes into “do the best you can”, further dissolving into grumblings of “nothing comes from nothing”.
We encourage ‘stars‘ to burn brightly, and then just as vehemently we clamor to see them self-destruct, even egging them on. “Jump! Jump!” we plead longing for a train wreck. In this regard, and to answer the age old cosmic conundrum, I guess it’s true: a black hole can invariably swallow itself whole.
The sobering reality:
To maintain our sanity and make us ‘SMiLE‘, we are admonished not to sweat the ‘little things’. However, in the fabric of time, space and existence we are also reminded that we are all merely specks of dust. It’s funny… I’m allergic to dust.
PS. Thanks for reading. Do you question your existence or are you just not certain where to stand? Let me know. All roads should lead here.