From that kid that always asks why...
You could squander your life entirely and it would have been well lived, do you hold any recognition? If you could stop categorizing for one moment, comparing, deconstructing, articulating, manifesting, constructing, destroying, creating. If you could cease this involuntary activity but for one moment, I feel as though you would realize this. If you could simply halt your thoughts that always seem to project so far into the past and future and keep them here with you and me for only a moment, these dichotomies and interactions might make more sense to you, maybe they would hold a distinct meaning.
Take a moment, the briefest one, I plead to you humble and wonderful people. Use it to observe, don’t analyze the circumstances you observe, don’t scrutinize the legitimacy of them. Simply observe. What do you see? As you sit there reading this, what is it you’re reading? How would you define it without comparing it to an extrinsic variable, I lay no claim to originality in the slightest. I’m not asking for you to recognize some authenticity in what I do, I occupy myself with the same activity and it’s ill-mannered to wish it upon anyone else. But reiterate the observation, perhaps this is not what you want to scrutinize so pertinently, maybe it’s me, the blogger, whom might you compare me to? Now, how would you define me without those comparisons? Could you? Perhaps again, this isn’t your concern, perhaps it is the environment in which you’ve found this torrent of irrelevant words, tumblr, how would you describe that without any other contexts as a backdrop? “Another blog site...what’s a blog site?...it’s a place where people share thoughts and ideas...what kind of place is that?...a public setting...what’s a public setting?...”
The continuity of these dialogues is perpetual, akin to the child that will always ask why, it may be perceived degrading in other outlets, I enjoy trying to be like that child on occasion...but even then I’m neglecting the point of my sentiment. The contrast of me and this child is exactly the contention which I address, it certainly isn’t detrimental, surely most philosophical outlooks think man ought to be like this child. I count myself among the populace inclined to agree. But imagine that same child let alone in the world, asking every inanimate object why it was the way it was, yielding no reply...what would he do? Many would assert he would cease asking, that his line of enquiry had met an end, fortunate of unfortunate as that may be. I disagree.
I would think he might eventually find a stream or something reminiscent of a mirror...what then?
It becomes implicit, the questioner becomes the same whom will answer, he must ask himself why. He must come to grips with questions so abstract that they somehow bear sternly upon the boy concretely, they make the boy that particular boy. The boy must ask how he is that boy, if he bears no answer that is concrete, if he can find no other whom will give him this information then rather than how he must ask again why. Why is he that particular boy? Why has he decided to be anything like this rather than anything else? There are certainly possibilities that he could be like any other boy, one whom meanders the beach gazing at the sky or ground, one whom sits to himself in a solitary asylum of walls, one whom attacks any other with malicious endeavor. But he has chosen to be the boy whom asks why, and now asks why to the boy whom asks why.
For an instant, cease reading, and recognize that you’ve ceased reading….do it now please.
Now look at your hands, the shape they manifest, cease reading and do this please.
Now look around you at your surroundings, the colors, the sounds, the feelings. Cease reading and do this please.
Now, think of where else you could be, think of any other location or locale. Cease reading and do this now please.
You will only recognize you’ve ceased reading like this on this particular occasion, your hands will only hold the exact shape you saw on this particular occasion, the place you are in will only be this exact place for as long as you have looked at it now, the place you conceived of will only ever be exactly as you’ve seen it for this one instant. There will be a change that only Heraclitus could see. But Heraclitus is not amongst us, I’m not with you, you alone see these sights through the most secure, irreplaceable and particular lens.
I can only imagine your life, as you could only imagine mine, but we so persistently believe we hold a grasp on it. But knowing these things….knowing these things can feel so disenchanting...by the same grace the thoughts you hold of me are invaluably yours, I could not process them as you do. Think of your thoughts. I know...I know I’m challenging to follow...and I can only simplify so much...I just wish to show you...that your moments...they are not measured by another’s time. The segments you will reflect on when you leave your existence, I could not come by in my own, we share company, but we share so much more in simply existing.
You may be the boy whom asks why, you may be the girl whom asks when, you may be the boy whom answers other why’s, you may be the girl whom asks nothing. But as simplistic as these potentialities seem, within them lay a breadth of an uncountable infinite chasm of feeling, strength, reason, comparison, analyzation, scrutiny, construction, deconstruction etc. So many things that etcetera doesn’t even contain it properly, etcetera implies things similar but within the category I give yours and mine potentiality is infinite.
Live your life as you see fit, waste it, fulfill it, sour it, sweeten it. It was still a life that will never again be lived by another, there’s no statistical data to give you what only you can give yourself.
