A frog croaking on a lily pad. Darkness below and darkness
above. Streaks of moonlight, scent of flowers and mud, the buzz of a
million, trillion insects. Peaceful. Tranquil.
Curled up on the floor. Fetal. Crying endlessly.
There
is some hilarity to be found in my recognition of frogs. The last time
I happened upon one in the wild was over a decade ago. Yet the sound
of their croaks is familiar, unforgettable. Memories have slipped from
my mind endlessly during this period. Some just after their creation,
some longer than that, but many have faded from my recollection
entirely. Without having seen or heard a frog in what I would guess
would be half of my life I can tell you exactly how one looks, how one
sounds. Is this knowledge so simple that it is unable to be lost? So
innocuous that it will forever hold a small portion of my brain for
itself? Eventually all of my memories will fade to black, and the only
image left in my consciousness will be a large frog, floating on a lily
pad. The water jet black. The piercing white of the moon a sliver of
shine through the deep. Bugs stirring about it. Unaware.
Sometimes
I get thinking about how there is no meaning at all. People attribute
these effects to everything. Some things are bad, some things are good.
"Good" and "Bad," they decided. It is more like we are dancing for
nobody. All performers, no audience. When I think about it too long I
can't materialize the thoughts as well. Sort of backwards isn't that.
Lately I have come to think that the meaninglessness is cool. It makes
me feel alive. It makes me want to live. Like, really live.
Before
I used to think this way, forces would impart themselves on my thought
process. I became a person who worries about the world around me, more
than it worries about me. Instead of that, I want to feel completely
free in my own body. I want to put on a song and get lost in it. Not in
a simple way, either. To listen and feel and move. Surrounded by
people, perhaps, but dancing by myself. Fully grooving. When I fully
accept that nothing matters, it doesn't sap me of hope and wonder. It
makes me feel free. The cognitive shackles that I attached open right
up. Rather, the mental self-flagellation. All the ideas I have about
fear and worry and perception were developed before I knew I didn't have
to develop them. Which makes me realize that my mind has gained
strength. As my body grew, so, too, has my mind. Wisdom fully
realized.
When you conjure
certain ideas and gaze upon yourself from an outside perspective, you
have a certainty to face. There will come a point when my life will end.
There won't be a chance to look back and assess it, it will come
without warning and without preparation. I want to know at the end. Know
without knowing. That I tried my best to be happy. The only way to
ensure that is to create my own fulfillment out of nothing. It sounds
daunting, but when you are at a level of introspection it is
involuntary. Natural. As natural as a frog on a lilypad.
In
the face of certain Calamity, in the face of Inevitable Defeat, the
only thing left is to live. We all do it by virtue of having no other
option. Whether we enjoy it or not. Whether we understand it or not.
Whether it ends up good or bad. You only have yourself, the idea of
yourself, a sense of self. To pursue is the only choice. Better than
nothing at all and better than not trying. Better than fear, better
than submission. A formal summation is non-existence and I am forced to
strive. Strife in the face of everlasting void. The simplicity of it
all is quite stunning.
A
song ends and the feeling that it thrust upon me lingers slightly
longer, but the silence takes over. Back to the norm, the standard, the
rigorous lockstep of complacency, the frail machine: unthinking,
unquestioning, uniformly nondescript. My soul pours out of my ears and
my eyes and my head until I am altogether empty. Another song pops on
and joy and love and otherworldly desire grip my heart as if to pump
start it. New blood flows in on the notes, and out comes waves of
melodic emotion, soul fuel. In these moments we are in touch with
something greater than ourselves. Not out of our control, not knowingly
out of our desire until we seize it. I am here to seize it. As a frog
on a lilypad on a jet black lake seizes a fly with it's tongue.
