Monday, August 20, 2012

... this journey of ours.

“It is photography itself that creates the illusion of innocence. Its ironies of frozen narrative lend to its subjects an apparent unawareness that they will change or die. It is the future they are innocent of. Fifty years on we look at them with the godly knowledge of how they turned out after all - who they married, the date of their death - with no thought for who will one day be holding photographs of us.”
Ian McEwan, Black Dogs

As we hurry toward our respective train cars, fearing missed connections and the delays that accompany them, we make ourselves intentionally, if subconsciously unaware of our destination; that is to say that we refuse to recognise that our trip must end.

The important bit is that we don’t numb ourselves to the entirety of it, this journey of ours.

No, we cannot help that the train tracks end.

No, we cannot know when they will.

No, we cannot change that.

We can change our urgencies.

Be urgent to enjoy the scent of the air.

Be urgent to enjoy the momentary caress of a breeze under a summer sun.

Be urgent to lose oneself entirely to a lover’s hands or the promise of lovers’ devices.

Do not concern yourself with maintaining your wholeness – it is through our brokenness that we feel the world; it is in our shattered states that the world commits us to memory. It is the cracks in our being that make us who and what we are. It is in our crooked limbs and minds that our souls take form.

Do not live vicariously. Live profoundly. Live so that, when this train jumps the tracks, you aren’t met with the terror of mortality, but the promise of a realistic immortality.


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