I Just Dont Know Anymore
Picture for a moment your life as a film, now hit pause, here we have a still image, the snapshot of “NOW”. If the movie was playing you could miss the transition from one scene to another. Change does not need you in the room to continue its own personal orchestra. Beats, rhythms, tempos, etc. they all can change just like that.
In this crazy play on the stage we call life, we have things we think of as constants. Houses, jobs, relationships, family. All things that we take as innate parts of ourselves. Yet if you are past a certain age and have not existed in a vacuum or under a large rock of some kind, more than likely you have felt the sting as those parts of you we're taken, cut away, torn off, burned, or even left on their own accord.
In that, none of us are strangers in this land, this place of darkness.
It's strange how despite crossing that threshold countless times, we still can't get used to it.
My assumption on that is because our eyes always seem to adjust, yes sometimes its quicker to do so than others, but in the end, they always do. And it's in those moments in between when we are flooded with panic and fear and anxiety while we calm to our momentary blindness we can catch glimpses of those raw, unfiltered pieces of our being.
Having said this, it's not always so dire, we can learn to better acclimate to those times of stark transition from light to dark, as we tumble along the precipitous of fate.
After a while, if you happen to be unfortunate enough to require needing to frequent this place you can learn to recognize patterns.
Imagine being in cold water, out in the sun, having gotten a shot.
Now imagine seeing someone enter that water for the first time, their muscles seize up, they shiver and shake, picture them walking out into the sunlight having been in a dimly lit room as they throw their hands up to shield their eyes from the glare of the sun. watch them wince as they feel the pain as the needle pushes in, the piercing feeling that has already started to fade in your own arm.
They are thrust into this new environment and in them you see yourself.
We are floating along just atop the waves, we see a rough idea of the future, obstacles, hazards, etc. we know as much as our field of vision allows us to see and extrapolate upon. Then in a moment we are plunged below the waters surface. Thrashing and struggling are usually first, and is most often automatic, happening purely on instinct.
Remember this time or not, it will matter only in an arbitrary sense later.
If you are lucky you emerge from the depths without too much discomfort,
you look around and the landscape has changed, no longer can you see the shoreline, everything is different, everything is new save for the few scraps of your old life and path that must have broken when you went down.
You do your best to gather them together and keep them safe from this strange new tide of waves.
With arms full of the remnants you kick your feet determined to get your bearings and get back to what is known, what feels safe, what is home.
After what feels like forever your muscles begin to tire, yet inside you have a hope that your destination is just past the horizon. Hope is what keeps each kick and stroke powerful and driven to make it back.
The already unknown time starts to blur, that hope starts to wane and slow, yet not altogether gone, you hit a cycle of panic and fear, which you can feel slowing you down, soon your met with sparks of hope and again you find that burst of strength.
Yet all of this is to no avail. Despite your exhaustion and movement, you are getting nowhere because of the simple fact you don't know where it is that you are.
Here is where you try your best to retrace your path, how far have you d\gone, where did you start, how long were you under for? You wrack your brain trying to recall each moment. Sadly you fail to provide any answers to yourself.
You drift along and just seethe, hating each unfamiliar sound, a ball of rage hungry for an outlet.
Perhaps you cast off you bits that you've been cradling in your arms all the while, or maybe you just clutch at them even harder till the jagged edges break the skin.
After the pain and anger subside you think, you ponder, you evaluate, you weigh, you try to sort everything out. You reach out to any deity you can think of in hopes to be heard. You make promises that you won't complain about your crummy job, you'll let go of whatever bullshit vapid thing you hold against a significant other or best friend, you fill out a thousand blank checks just hoping that one will return you to the place you once were and in hindsight took for granted.
Yet the silence persists, the nothing goes on...
here is when things get bad, your bones are waterlogged from all the tears, hold up a smile may as well be equivalent to the weight of the world. In this already timeless place time somehow stops....
Intermission. Existence will continue once this break has concluded after a preset and undisclosed amount of time passes.
cut to then -
recommencing film in 3-2-1.
all at once, you find yourself in the briefest moment of clarity, like waking from a dream. As if you've been staring off into space and you finally snap back. How long have those birds been chirping, has the sun been out this whole time? When did those trees come into view? Your vision returns.
Although you still have no clue where you are, it doesn't matter. “things have returned” you are free from the all-encompassing nothing. That darkness has faded.
That isn't to say you don't have the minor and momentary paralysis from seeing the occasional shadow.
But overall that is gone.
You rebuild, you mend what you can, like a tree in spring after winter new signs of life emerge within.
Think of this when you see those thrashing about in the water, perhaps their life has just capsized and their eyes have yet to adjust. Maybe they're hoping to return to what has broken, maybe they're that ball of rage, it's possible they want to give you a blank check, or maybe time has stopped for them.
In them, we can see ourselves. A sort of funhouse mirror that shows us those parts of ourselves that exists in the dark places. Who we were when alone, lost, numb.
In this crazy play on the stage we call life, we have things we think of as constants. Houses, jobs, relationships, family. All things that we take as innate parts of ourselves. Yet if you are past a certain age and have not existed in a vacuum or under a large rock of some kind, more than likely you have felt the sting as those parts of you we're taken, cut away, torn off, burned, or even left on their own accord.
In that, none of us are strangers in this land, this place of darkness.
It's strange how despite crossing that threshold countless times, we still can't get used to it.
My assumption on that is because our eyes always seem to adjust, yes sometimes its quicker to do so than others, but in the end, they always do. And it's in those moments in between when we are flooded with panic and fear and anxiety while we calm to our momentary blindness we can catch glimpses of those raw, unfiltered pieces of our being.
Having said this, it's not always so dire, we can learn to better acclimate to those times of stark transition from light to dark, as we tumble along the precipitous of fate.
After a while, if you happen to be unfortunate enough to require needing to frequent this place you can learn to recognize patterns.
Imagine being in cold water, out in the sun, having gotten a shot.
Now imagine seeing someone enter that water for the first time, their muscles seize up, they shiver and shake, picture them walking out into the sunlight having been in a dimly lit room as they throw their hands up to shield their eyes from the glare of the sun. watch them wince as they feel the pain as the needle pushes in, the piercing feeling that has already started to fade in your own arm.
They are thrust into this new environment and in them you see yourself.
We are floating along just atop the waves, we see a rough idea of the future, obstacles, hazards, etc. we know as much as our field of vision allows us to see and extrapolate upon. Then in a moment we are plunged below the waters surface. Thrashing and struggling are usually first, and is most often automatic, happening purely on instinct.
Remember this time or not, it will matter only in an arbitrary sense later.
If you are lucky you emerge from the depths without too much discomfort,
you look around and the landscape has changed, no longer can you see the shoreline, everything is different, everything is new save for the few scraps of your old life and path that must have broken when you went down.
You do your best to gather them together and keep them safe from this strange new tide of waves.
With arms full of the remnants you kick your feet determined to get your bearings and get back to what is known, what feels safe, what is home.
After what feels like forever your muscles begin to tire, yet inside you have a hope that your destination is just past the horizon. Hope is what keeps each kick and stroke powerful and driven to make it back.
The already unknown time starts to blur, that hope starts to wane and slow, yet not altogether gone, you hit a cycle of panic and fear, which you can feel slowing you down, soon your met with sparks of hope and again you find that burst of strength.
Yet all of this is to no avail. Despite your exhaustion and movement, you are getting nowhere because of the simple fact you don't know where it is that you are.
Here is where you try your best to retrace your path, how far have you d\gone, where did you start, how long were you under for? You wrack your brain trying to recall each moment. Sadly you fail to provide any answers to yourself.
You drift along and just seethe, hating each unfamiliar sound, a ball of rage hungry for an outlet.
Perhaps you cast off you bits that you've been cradling in your arms all the while, or maybe you just clutch at them even harder till the jagged edges break the skin.
After the pain and anger subside you think, you ponder, you evaluate, you weigh, you try to sort everything out. You reach out to any deity you can think of in hopes to be heard. You make promises that you won't complain about your crummy job, you'll let go of whatever bullshit vapid thing you hold against a significant other or best friend, you fill out a thousand blank checks just hoping that one will return you to the place you once were and in hindsight took for granted.
Yet the silence persists, the nothing goes on...
here is when things get bad, your bones are waterlogged from all the tears, hold up a smile may as well be equivalent to the weight of the world. In this already timeless place time somehow stops....
Intermission. Existence will continue once this break has concluded after a preset and undisclosed amount of time passes.
cut to then -
recommencing film in 3-2-1.
all at once, you find yourself in the briefest moment of clarity, like waking from a dream. As if you've been staring off into space and you finally snap back. How long have those birds been chirping, has the sun been out this whole time? When did those trees come into view? Your vision returns.
Although you still have no clue where you are, it doesn't matter. “things have returned” you are free from the all-encompassing nothing. That darkness has faded.
That isn't to say you don't have the minor and momentary paralysis from seeing the occasional shadow.
But overall that is gone.
You rebuild, you mend what you can, like a tree in spring after winter new signs of life emerge within.
Think of this when you see those thrashing about in the water, perhaps their life has just capsized and their eyes have yet to adjust. Maybe they're hoping to return to what has broken, maybe they're that ball of rage, it's possible they want to give you a blank check, or maybe time has stopped for them.
In them, we can see ourselves. A sort of funhouse mirror that shows us those parts of ourselves that exists in the dark places. Who we were when alone, lost, numb.
31-35, M
