“Beauty, old yet new, eternal voice and inward word”
It sure is cold, they say, just plain, miserable cold. They say another storm’s gonna roll through here, that come afternoon, some snow’s gonna fall and then, you know, it goes from there. And it’s March for Christ’s sake and haven’t we had enough? And when will it ever end? They used to think January was the month to brace for, but February’s the month. And March? Well, they guess that’s just the time of year that’s particularly chock full of surprises and exasperation and eye-rolling and just something more to complain about.
I’m listening but I don’t hear, you know? It’s all the same to me. I mean, I used to be one of them, but things changed and I came around to thinking it just doesn’t matter. I tried to be all concerned about the weather and the economy and politics and religion like healthy, curious human beings are supposed be, but it just didn’t work out. I could never get it right so as I could measure up, looks- or smarts-wise. I could never remember all the facts and stats and keep up with all the issues at hand and the arguing points and, well, I realized I wasn’t fiercely or otherwise committed to any one thing, so there was nothing to fight for. So I stopped.
I stopped worrying about my health like folks are always talking about. If they’re not going on about the weather or politics or religion, they’re talking and worrying about their physical and mental and sexual health, worrying so they can feel like those advertisements look, the ones showing glowing specimens of health of all ages, those shown in various stages of running or step aerobics or yoga or partaking of one of those sensible diet and exercise regimens you’re supposed to check with your doctor about. Your doctor, who knows you’re going to die of something sometime, so why worry about it?
None of the stopping I ever did was for lack of trying, though, don’t get me wrong. Ever since I was a little kid I was shown by way of endless streams of media what I was supposed to be and look like and what I was supposed to do and be interested in and find worthy to pursue, and how I was supposed to spend my school and work and leisure time, and who I was supposed to marry and how many kids I was supposed to have, and what sports I was supposed to master or at least be interested in, and on and on, and I watched and listened and tried it all, tried hard.
I don’t think I could’ve tried any harder than I did. Whether or not that’s true, I snapped trying, completely lost it. I don’t remember every detail of everything as it was happening, and there’s no need to. But I ended up here where the folks are all about trying to rebuild me to what they’ve seen in media streams is normal. They’re trying to get me back interested in the weather so as I can get back out there in it to complain about it, to roll my eyes at how unforgivably hot yet short the summers are and how miserably cold and long the winters are and haven’t we had enough? And when will it ever end?
New York City Library lion from http://pro.corbis.com/images/42-16574229.jpg?size=67&uid=%7BC9DC72DB-AF88-4010-A238-5763DFF8B5C1%7D
NYC winter congestion from http://pro.corbis.com/images/YM012953.jpg?size=67&uid=%7BC714B93F-A222-4B90-8196-79CE6C2D6FFE%7D
Missalister’s “Snow-blind,” copyright © 2009, was spun off the Sunday Scribblings prompt “#152 – Lost.” Click here for more on prompt #152 from other Sunday Scribblings participants.
right from the hip with no punches pulled — shivers my timbers and resonates deep inside where i live and perhaps erupted from deep inside where miss a resides??? ( now who’s not pulling their punches?) – a vicious circle of being brainwashed and then de-programming self only to be seen as deranged as we make an effort to accomodate our own new arrangement — stinks when we have a reality where we are finally comfortable, only to have our signs of growth invalidated — no effin wonder everybody feels lost!!! – a great post – pregnant with tremendous meaning for me — thank you!!!
I’m not lost. All I need do is find my way here where you open a delightful basket of words to make me smile, roll my eyes in wonder and go away sated. Until the next time.
What Danni said…true that!
The trying and the not living up to outside standards will never end, even after we’re gone, but while we’re here, let’s get off the ride, and watch the craziness from the sidelines, laughing that we thought that it all meant something and notice that we can feel pretty good about what we’ve got.
That’d be something, huh?
As I read, something deep inside relaxed. I almost feel as though I relaxed for all our society. Just let it go, don’t have to try anymore. Just be….. Ahhhh
Being in the thick of the end of winter, those voice rise everyday, folks really do like company….
Miss Alister, you just read my mind :) So I see you’ve got a new talent. So I see you’ve put into words what I fail to say every time I am drunk (and as rightly said, the words of drunk men are thoughts of the wise). This for me serves as a must read for everyone who advises me. Its my life’s definition as I am living it right now. My karma. My fate.
Digression: Don’t know if you’ve read Sabbath’s Theater by Philip Roth, but I am reading it right now and I think you should give it a read too.
Those endless streams of media (external and introjected) are a killer, ain’t they? Two things here haunt me, both sides of the dialectic in pursuit of her soul: the houseparent arbiters of the endless streams (generally bad painters, all) and the still, quiet voice that is growing inside her as counterpoint to the life and death issues of meteorology. Will that voice grow enough to lead her out of the streaming sanctuary? Love the blithe assuredness of the blind lion. Doesn’t know what hit him. I suppose that’s how she looked when they found her…
Speaking of snowblind, the previous thoughts were those of paschal, not the KOB. I lack his flair for spelling
and paragraph breaks…Love and out.
Just dropping by.Btw, you website have great content!
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Wish I did reside in any knowing that got spat out here. I float in and out of it like Lindsay Lohan in and out of rehab. I feel like I’m on my way to living from that place, though, from the heart of intuition, and I hope I get there before I run out of steam. I sure have spent a lot of years trying to look like Barbie and be like Ken and I feel like I been tied to the whipping post. LOL! Glad you dug this, sister heart-follower : )
Aw, T, you really do say just the right things to make a person feel a luscious brand of good : ) And when I see your comments around the blog world, it’s the same. You got the touch. And yes, next time. I look forward to it as always : )
Hear, hear! Yes, let’s watch from the sidelines as much as we’re able! Or, when we do get enticed back onto the ride—because Barbie and Ken do make it look like such fun—let’s, as much as we’re able, be on it knowing we’re on it, not taking it seriously! OK, well, let’s see how that goes!
Ah, that’s it, what you wrote. One of the best feelings my brain has on record is the heavenly relief of dropping a ruse that has been such a slave-driving burden to bear, to try and keep it up. And what you wrote about winter and folks, that’s what this piece pinged off from, hearing someone go on about the weather. And you gotta love it ‘cause folks is folks, they need a common denominator, and weather’s like a universal language : )
Ah! Yes, to get down the great truths that come pouring forth when you are The Drunken Messiah you must have a witness, else the truths are lost, lost, sadly lost to others and to you when you’re sober ; ) But no matter, if you’ve dispensed with the futility of trying to be naught but the Drumster walking to the beat of himself : )
I have not read Roth’s “Sabbath’s Theater,” but just reading Boston Review’s review of it made me want to dive into a hard alcohol graveyard spiral and smack the earth’s surface at 460 knots impact speed. Certainly I’m interested in both deconstructing one of Roth’s best-built beasts and in the struggle between depravity and virtue, but Mickey Sabbath seems a degree of pain I’d need smelling salts to stay conscious during. Since the recommendation comes from you, though, next time I’m near a book store I’ll slip in through the back door and have a look at it in person ; )
Thank you for elucidating Paschal’s thoughts with your majestic words palatially arranged. You truly do rule ; )
So one can be over-brilliant and -educated but that doesn’t guarantee stellar spelling and paragraph-breaking? Say it ain’t so and that my ideal can be superglued ; )
Now Paschal, how is it that you read Barbie when I was thinking in Ken? Either way, “will that voice grow?” is the cliffhanger, for this chapter, for this lifetime, depending : )
And oh yes, yes, yes, don’t I just dig that lion! What a find! There he is on the steps of one of the most impressive repositories of potential knowledge, like the see-no-evil monkey, like the naked emperor, unaware or pretending not to notice that he has been visually stripped of his kingliness!
Thanks for dropping by and signing the guest book. In the fallout of the Suleman affair, though, I especially feel no urge to be fruitful and multiply ; )
If we all got a bit cuckoo like that maybe things would matter again, huh?
But then who would make magazines and silly tv shows? lol
I keep returning to this lovely piece, finding peace of mind. Interesting to me how writing about “lost” can take a person straight to what it means to be found. Or how being age, drink, or madness can lead a person to the same conclusions. Wonderful!
Yeah! But we know, with people being people, that the likelihood of that happening is almost nonexistent, and I say “almost” to allow for that freak thing. I’ve learned after all the things I’ve seen during my lifetime that the freak thing actually does happen on occasion =:-0
I’m so glad you enjoyed this. So true, your second sentence, so hilariously true, your third! And this leads me to the age-old question of why life is backwards. Why must we go through the hell of being young and dumb to gain wisdom we can’t use for long before we die?