Nothing has felt worthy of pen to paper lately. I reached a point where I have only felt like “large” emotions were worth documenting. I just haven't felt like talking about the everyday ordinary feelings of subsistence. The day to day feeling of singularity, of point questioning, isn't something I want to preserve for posterity. But that’s what we’re all left with isn’t it?
As has been the case many times before, a cross country flight has brought me back to this journal. I cannot read another email tonight, nor watch another movie on my phone. I need to travel deep inside myself, away from this actual moment in time. Away from the guy cutting his fingernails in the middle seat next to me. Away from the generically older overweight man in a “Make America Great Hat” sitting next to the window. Why does he keep having to get up to use the bathroom?
I have been living in a world that I don’t recognize. A place that I didn’t think could exist, let alone sustain itself. I find myself not able to identify with what is put before me. It’s like all of the vaguely obnoxious things I’ve encountered in my life have all coalesced into this strange manifestation of reality. There is a sort of psychosis to all of this. I wonder if I am still alive, or if I’ve entered into some strange purgatory where everything is a never-ending cross country flight; full of similar lost souls, forced to sit through this monotonous and abstractly stinky endurance test. Forced to listen to a drunk guy in a Tommy Bahama shirt argue with a guy whose hearing aid batteries have burned out about the age of the bible. I am Bruce Willis at the end of the Sixth Sense, waiting for the mind-blowing reveal. I’m on a mission to understand exactly how I got stuck here.
The irony to much of this is that the person who would let my imagination run wild with this is both the cause of these feelings, and is missing. She would have embraced this mind-trip. Would have helped me better put all of this into words. Would have helped me to adjust to all this.
The bright light that was illuminating the way has gone out and things seem to be only lit by the phases of the moon. There are bright nights, where the darkness actually has shadows, and then there are those periods where all is hidden and it is necessary to go forward only by feel. It’s all nighttime. I am looking for the beauty in the dark.
The month of November is behind, the end of the year ahead. Matthew’s birthday is on Sunday, then Christmas and the start of a new year. Another turning of a page. The question that is always there grows louder for a time. The why and what for. The wondering of what is around the bend. The grasping for a return to what was. An acceptance of what will never be. The inward look. The outward smile.
Actually living in the night means actually seeing the light in the dark.