We Reach
I wondered, what to say. An aloof sadness like the shadows in a diChirico painting framed my very existence, down to the core. Rife with beauty though, it was a sadness like the autumn after a summer of hard won decisions and there's change, staring you right in the face. Like finally knowing, maybe, what to do.
I will be the loudest to tell you that it is far worse, friends, to never know what you want, than it is to know and to have failed.
Three lives that at their core are not so very different. I don't know how to tell you that I wanted that house of the three of us, more than anything, and knowing that it would most likely exist only in our minds made it more beautiful than the last breaths of Sunday afternoon when the breath of Monday morning caresses the hairs on the back of you neck. Isn't it funny that we have our entire lives to try something marvelous? And most of the time I am so tightly wound inside my idea of who I am, and I have the hardest time telling either of you anything that is real, aside from that which doesn't really have to do with me. So it comes out in paintings.
of all days, 43 had the tetons.
How do you ascribe meaning to a life? This is not an open-ended question, it is an invitation for a treatise, it is a call for examination. All my life I have been chasing for the thing that will finally elucidate that elusive thing that is my reason for being. I ran last night, and I thought about the painting that I had just finished, the one of the giant head of a Roman sculpture. And I thought about the meditations, and I thought about my job and the test on March 8th, and I thought about what mark I might possibly be making on the world, and then I thought
how silly a thing
when the world is as giant as it is, and I am as small within it as I am. Perhaps my problem lies in having too large a scope. And I thought about my painting again, and how I feel that I get the most out of each moment, and really....
how do you ascribe meaning to a life? It is a personal query, full of crags and traps and spiders, but the answer (I think) is really quite simple. "He was loved by all he knew, and had a quick mind, and never had a dull moment." And the bagpipes play on. What more is there to possibly say?
I will be the loudest to tell you that it is far worse, friends, to never know what you want, than it is to know and to have failed.
Three lives that at their core are not so very different. I don't know how to tell you that I wanted that house of the three of us, more than anything, and knowing that it would most likely exist only in our minds made it more beautiful than the last breaths of Sunday afternoon when the breath of Monday morning caresses the hairs on the back of you neck. Isn't it funny that we have our entire lives to try something marvelous? And most of the time I am so tightly wound inside my idea of who I am, and I have the hardest time telling either of you anything that is real, aside from that which doesn't really have to do with me. So it comes out in paintings.
of all days, 43 had the tetons.
How do you ascribe meaning to a life? This is not an open-ended question, it is an invitation for a treatise, it is a call for examination. All my life I have been chasing for the thing that will finally elucidate that elusive thing that is my reason for being. I ran last night, and I thought about the painting that I had just finished, the one of the giant head of a Roman sculpture. And I thought about the meditations, and I thought about my job and the test on March 8th, and I thought about what mark I might possibly be making on the world, and then I thought
how silly a thing
when the world is as giant as it is, and I am as small within it as I am. Perhaps my problem lies in having too large a scope. And I thought about my painting again, and how I feel that I get the most out of each moment, and really....
how do you ascribe meaning to a life? It is a personal query, full of crags and traps and spiders, but the answer (I think) is really quite simple. "He was loved by all he knew, and had a quick mind, and never had a dull moment." And the bagpipes play on. What more is there to possibly say?
1 Comments:
At 12:50 AM,
Unknown said…
You were on my mind this evening. We met over six years ago, and haven't talked much during the last three, but you were on my mind this evening. I should be working on a collection development policy - due dates and timelines and silliness - but I thought that first I'd stop in and say hey; and also that I think you should quit your dayjob and become a writer/photographer/artist/warrior poet.
"Most people don't know
there are angels
whose only job
is to make sure
you don't get
too comfortable
& fall asleep
& miss you life."
- Brian Andreas
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