In My Own Life
SOC Writing 19 July 2020
In my Own Life
A life of my choosing, It’s a bare place to begin with. Not knowing the people or the things who used to be there. What am I without all these markers, truths and locations, the echo’s of my past life ricochet back each day and give me a head of haze. Slowly I am letting the old be old and staring out at the new – right – here. This place that is both familiar and, life a roadside motel – full of understanding and nothing. Where is the meaning I ask - the purpose? Such a big word – purpose – like I have to have it thick and fast or else it is pointless. But I am now wondering – this fixation on a specific place and location and the form of propulsion is a lead I always swallow. It’s not necessary to hold onto the flotsam and jetsam on the surface of the water. The wreck is going down and the strewn pieces are yes, life rafts now, but a paisley morsel to build ones life upon. The thing is, the old and new always hold hands – cross each other’s roads. Hell, the Irish say the past is always in the present and the future – I believe it. It’s my fascination with meaning that gets me. How this day, this morning must make up a heavy clout of meaningful shit – must bend itself towards majesty and triumph. The lost days of singing in church in the throng. Hands extended I become what I was born into – lost, lost, breathing in the air of jubilation – I am one – I have arrived. It all makes sense. Nothing makes sense. We arrive, we depart – the moving history and our sides upon that rung are so fleeting and I hustle to stay relevant to that which is ungraspable and ever moving. Stop- ping – now (no, not shopping) – here I find some sanity and it is a skill to stop for any length of time – but like the Dakota on the high prairie – silent for an age – the stillness beckons forth exactly the right action and re-action. The stillness is the action I must take. Longing as I do for the fresh carcass of my life to feel alive and pleasured at who it really is.