You Haven't Lived
The problem with Trite is that it's usually true in some way.
It is indeed true that you haven't lived until you've snorkeled in clear waters, or screamed yourself hoarse, or seen the view a million miles in every direction from a mountain peak, or understood one of Emily Dickinson's more obscure poems, or sung in a choir, or been punched in the face, or kissed someone until Time stopped and the world could have receded into oblivion for all you knew or cared. Just because it was on a motivational poster in the bathroom of the county offices doesn't make it untrue.
But that doesn't mean it satisfies. If living is licking honey off a thorn, you still taste the thorn, which is made of wormwood. And all the Honey and Blood you can savor won't erase the aftertaste.
Which means it all boils down to trudging. Dailiness. The sun rises a ribbon at a time. Glorious. Go ahead and say it. And then it sets and rises to the beat of a drum that wears smooth the planks of your resolve. More cliches then: Spaces--periods and ellipses between a few well chosen exclamation points. Ups and downs. The peaks and valleys of an EKG. The Darkest Hour is just before the dawn that is the harbinger of the next darkest hour. Hang in there, baby. Repeat this section at the coda.
Said Regina (and it doesn't matter that she might have said it to teenage girls):
"This is how it works: You're young until you're not; you try until you can't; you love until you don't; you laugh until you cry; you cry until you laugh; and everyone must breathe until their dying breath. . . You peer inside yourself, and take the things you like, and try to love the things you took. And then you take that love you made and stick it into someone else's heart pumping someone else's blood. And walking arm in arm, you pray it won't get harmed. But even if it does you'll just do it all again."
If you find something you can add to that, let me know.
It is indeed true that you haven't lived until you've snorkeled in clear waters, or screamed yourself hoarse, or seen the view a million miles in every direction from a mountain peak, or understood one of Emily Dickinson's more obscure poems, or sung in a choir, or been punched in the face, or kissed someone until Time stopped and the world could have receded into oblivion for all you knew or cared. Just because it was on a motivational poster in the bathroom of the county offices doesn't make it untrue.
But that doesn't mean it satisfies. If living is licking honey off a thorn, you still taste the thorn, which is made of wormwood. And all the Honey and Blood you can savor won't erase the aftertaste.
Which means it all boils down to trudging. Dailiness. The sun rises a ribbon at a time. Glorious. Go ahead and say it. And then it sets and rises to the beat of a drum that wears smooth the planks of your resolve. More cliches then: Spaces--periods and ellipses between a few well chosen exclamation points. Ups and downs. The peaks and valleys of an EKG. The Darkest Hour is just before the dawn that is the harbinger of the next darkest hour. Hang in there, baby. Repeat this section at the coda.
Said Regina (and it doesn't matter that she might have said it to teenage girls):
"This is how it works: You're young until you're not; you try until you can't; you love until you don't; you laugh until you cry; you cry until you laugh; and everyone must breathe until their dying breath. . . You peer inside yourself, and take the things you like, and try to love the things you took. And then you take that love you made and stick it into someone else's heart pumping someone else's blood. And walking arm in arm, you pray it won't get harmed. But even if it does you'll just do it all again."
If you find something you can add to that, let me know.
posted by s.k.namanny at 11:08 AM
2 Comments:
It's the only worthwhile thing I've read in hours, days for 12 months running. It's 2am, and I was surfing for something worthwhile- so I could sleep. Thank you.
thank you
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