22.10.16 – Amsterdam. Dedicated to my oldest friends.
We are blessed by the things we do not have. Lifted of the burden of the things we cannot, should perhaps not, obtain. A blessing of lack, of the absence of the objects of our misguided desires. We are blessed by our mislaid plans not coming true, even if we cannot see it that way when universe tells us to stop. When she gives us a new path by closing another one, we are blessed without knowing or understanding why we are seemingly out of luck at that moment of realization.
We are wrong as we forget that we may in fact be in luck when what we wanted is taken away from us.
We are moreso blessed by the things we have. A melody of our existence, a trace of the intricate and unique trails we blazed – a reminder of our past, an image of our present, a whispered promise of our future.
I celebrated my life with my friends today. It was good. It was pure, easy, effortlessly satisfying until they all went to sleep and left me alone under the stars of a pristine sky – the light of the universe piercing my mind from all existable angles.
I realized that I’m also very angry. I will see all this burn. The want, the desire is sometimes too strong, but there is a me in I that holds the destruction at bay. I know I will feel disdain and scorn, and I will smile at the end, once my wave crashes through… this. That knowledge almost hurts. That smile of selfish, self-righteous, self-inflicted outward fury will hurt in the extant ability to feel that kind of anger – righteous or selfish, regardless of its reasons, it will leave a taste of blood. Will it be my blood?
As the blood may flow freely once it is time. The me in I knows the empty shell of a victory once nothing no longer stands at the wake of my fury. It is my art, my moving words through life. It’s my music. It’s the culmination of things I couldn’t do. Life goes on, we, as specks of cosmic dust, move onward and through. But I feel fit. Healthy. I am going to do it. I need to do it. I want to do it. I want to live. And I want to celebrate. Learn. It is my duty to my future family and self to be good now, so I can be better then. This is probably the mantra of mine against midlife crisis. Because there is always a crisis. Life is a series of crises and celebrations, a series of failures and conquests, a personal, untameable string of ups and downs – but I will do it. Grab the bull by the horns, grab the lion by the mane, grab the crocodile by its trapping jaws. Pull out the sword of will, of ambition, of honesty, of justice, of mercy. And make my way through life. Leave nothing but good words, good memories, good remembrances in others’ minds. Leave the fury behind, even when just to be given, but never let go of the sword.
The universe whispers a solemn song. Melancholic, majestic, promising. She makes me smile as I realize her indifference to my small being is filled with a light given freely, even if uncaringly. Carefree, and lighter, right now all I need is my best friend’s lighter. And it feels fucking celebratory. Under the clear blue sky. A crown of celestial passage, a speck in a universe of the endless: ever flowing, always morphing, never the same – never different.
It’s my music. We, in our feeble minds and hearts, sing. We try to sing out loud. My throat burns enough already, but in my hand shall my sword remain.