There seem to be a thousand thoughts that encircle my mind at the moment, which of course is a massive departure from situation normal which normally is a huge void in that part of the body that is called the male brain. Anyway, this isn't a normal day perhaps, but be that as it may, I find myself unable to type anything remotely coherent given the fact that there seem to be no two sentences that I am able to string together that are not on quite different topics.
In a strange kind of way, that paragraph leads quite neatly onto one of the things that I was contemplating. Reading what I had written left me quite lost about what, if any, point I was trying to make and that is only reinforced the belief that was driven home last night by a question that I found myself faced with. Quite simply, words, for all their adequacy in certain situations, are so woefully inadequate when they are truly needed.
Could you define the expression on the face of a person who looks upon the endless sea and sees therein simply the concept of complete and absolute freedom? Could you describe in words the feelings of parents casting their eyes for the first time on their first-born? Could you describe in words what you mean by perfection and your emotions if you were perhaps to be confronted by it or him or her in your astonishingly short lifetime?
That of course, is another issue at hand, for what is it that deserves a superlative? Being, as I am, a follower of the school of thought that would have us believe that superlatives are best used sparingly, a subject I find worth contemplating is about what - if anything – constitutes a person, situation or happenstance that would warrant the use of one of those words that I am so disinclined to use.
And then what exactly is it that causes one to pause and look around and then feel like one in a dream looking about as Barrett so beautifully summed up “on the outside looking in”?
Then too, one wonders why a dream can’t be made to follow the direction one wishes it to take. Why for instance, does my noble steed always seem to end up either tripping over my shoelaces, that seem to start growing inordinately in my dreams, or rear up and neigh in fright at the sight of a hedgehog or some such? Why does it always happen that just as I find myself in a lovely place, there’s a truck that runs me over?
That of course is so different from the waking dreams one has that seem to follow the straight and narrow, so to speak, without any real conscious effort. In that drowsiness, somehow one is always smiling as the dream meanders down the path one would have wished it to…without one actually knowing what is happening. Even the silken touches seem more real at that time… Strange perhaps…and then again…
Talking of silken touches, has anyone ever quite understood the sheer joy of standing by the seaside and feeling the reality that is the mystery of everlasting and never-ending bliss? Just that one moment of connection, while gazing out at the setting Sun seems to last forever. The sea, afire and alive and yet so astonishingly silent as it roars out with the smashing of the waves on each other and on the walls of the sea-front…However, while so woefully inadequate at times, words seem to possess a life of their own when woven by those who seem to create an interwoven mesh of pure magic. At times, a verse can scream out thoughts; thoughts that nobody could word or mouth, but which through that verse seem to take a life of their own. To be honest, I envy such persons and can only bow down and hail their extraordinary and blessed talent and wonder whether such a level could be attained by another who wasn't perhaps born with that magic touch.
It is not of vivid descriptions I speak here, but of abstract thoughts, worded in seemingly simple lines. Herein lies the true art, for the words by themselves are apparently masking nothing and stating but simple facts. As is quite obvious, I find myself unable to express just what I am thinking, yet not attempting to do so seems impossible. 'The essential dilemma of the reluctant ignorant' would perhaps be an apt statement of my state of mind on this one.
If dawn was all and dusk never fell,
Would the farewell last no more?
Would you still await the morn?
But then, there'd be no night at all...