To you whom this concerns,
I don’t know where to start. Which reminds me of how I began one of my journals. And so, to quote myself:*
There’s something satisfyingly indulgent about copying words that had already been finished, but are being given a new meaning in a new context. So:
Allow me to pause the proceedings – really no more than a preface, an elaborate digression into the question of beginning, as if that could be solved and then everything else continued. Anyway, what I wish to record into this interruption is the time: 05:08 (AM, in case the sun’s position was not clear by the tone of the writing). That small fact carries with it a light suitcase of assumptions of causes, after all, why should anyone be awake at that hour, and why without even a modicum of proper night’s sleep?
Just some footnotes or whatnot:
Beginnings are flawed, else we would already be finished. But they are also advisors to direction, which must always be to someplace else or (once more) we would already be finished. Barring the assumption of a finite thing that suffices all, this creative trajectory from Genesis will always be arbitrary and incomplete; a compromised selection. [Here I skip a comparison of the structure of Neoplatonic thought to the implications of what has already been said, before justifying the first steps of this journey with a quote that celebrates as indomitable the very arbitrariness that had seemed condemned to melancholy before]. All men by nature desire understanding (to quote myself quoting Aristotle). Neither is this simple, and requires illumination.
Mortality is a difficult lesson and ultimately the most drastic. Along the way, it teaches us that the count of numbers can be finite, and in any case, is finite for us. We cannot seek wisdom without choosing ignorance.
[Here I begin by referencing an author who wrote at a time when one could pray to rivers and watch the entire universe revolve around oneself. His name was Lucretius, and he was the first preacher of atoms; the understanding that chance is the solution to all questions]. Creation stories are so often surreal, as their authors attempt to bridge the illogical (to us; what is nothing but a lack of awareness, paradoxically as if we could have knowledge of death, a liminal dimension that separates something from nothing. Here too (for all beginnings are creations of a future, and the wonder they provoke is universal to all), a mythical bridge, no matter its brevity:
The world is a will,
and so am I;
co-mingling in a
strange, strange
dance.
Each vantage is flawed and incomplete, unique and unparalleled, and thus an opportunity worth every price.
* That star above (second line in-case you missed it, I have, sometimes often) was a brief interruption to my train of thought, diverted for no other reason than to allow the scenic route. That (i.e. “And so to quote myself”) remind me of a quote by Oscar. During my search and discovery of my error, namely that the quote is by Shaw “I often quote myself. It adds spice to my conversation,” I come across one truly by Wilde, and which I am compelled to read out to you “You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.” I know why I’ve liked this one in particular, beyond its superficial and slightly laboured message: I realise that no matter the length of the road, everyone can see only as far as they can see. And so while I don’t claim to know more than you’ve let me know of your person**, I pride myself on being brilliant enough to see you as a wonder… oh no, another quote from myself, but it’s romantic and it’s just what I need to say,
Your soul is a beautiful melody. And hearing it brings harmony to my own
A few days later, I add: I think that’s a lie. Men want to save women, and women want to fix men. For example, imagine the archetype lover embracing her man returned from war with scars on body and soul. They are healed and erased by the feel of her skin and the sound of her voice. Yes, “Your soul is a beautiful melody,” but it cannot change my own, only ever complement it. Which is all it can ever need to do.
** I’m never sure whether my own Adriane’s thread coheres with the rat mazes of others. Or in other words for this particular case, whether it doesn’t need stating that the analogy of finite sight down an endless road was a metaphor for why I could only have a limited perspective of another sentient being.
And now to continue, almost 8 hours later. I still don’t know what to say.
