Sunday, 19 April 2009
Nothing Can Come Of Nothing: Speak Again.
My little dream self is just like she has always seemed to be. Lessons are learned, nurture is valued, life is treasured again, or perhaps for the "first time". The story is mesmerising, redemptive, and still sometimes troubled. Breakfast is eaten and conflicts handled, sometimes well, sometimes insensitively. There is still great reluctance to engage with others, always risky. Even swapping emails seems fraught with potential misunderstanding and confusion. But my character plugs away at it, sometimes unsure, sometimes with confidence, guided by thoughts that do not belong to "me", and feelings that are unfiltered. Sometimes I seemed aligned with some ideal of selfless service to humanity, sometimes I am baffled by the tiniest disagreement within the small nuclear family. It seems a boxed-in life, slightly frustrating, intermittently fulfilling, and often like groundhog day. There are so many who will identify with this muddling along, yet it makes no difference what the story is. Each story is a treasure, however dark the chapter. There is no burden of meaning, or of some payoff to come, although a payoff is sometimes desired; the meaning is in the very existence of the story at all. One of the lessons that seems to have been learned is that anything might happen, absolutely anything; there is no one who can control the outcome; there is no outcome; and the "anything" that seems to happen is the only thing that can. There are quite a few ways people try to put it, but a common one used by many - Hindus, Buddhists, Christian mystics, Kabbalah followers, modern advaitists, loads of the 57 varieties of seeker - is: I am being lived. Sometimes that "anything" is beyond what my character could have imagined, and this seems the case more so. Yet what is difficult to describe is the immediacy of it, the presence of the source, or however we're putting it today; how boundless it seems nearly all the "time" now, how fitting no matter how uncomfortable. It is right here. It is everything. It is impossible to use words, it is bigger than words, yet it embraces them; so although the nothingness that is everything cannot be described, in being lived, my character will continue to try.