So many times I just want to write. I just want to sit down at a computer and type. Type anything really. Type something. But it seems that any sort of substantial inspiration about anything comes at times when you can't write it down. You can't let your ideas flow. And what is left? Only the small and cluttered remnants of a pulse of inspiration that has come and gone with no intentions of ever returning. You're left with a puzzle, a damn confusing puzzle.
Soon you forget why you found that house so interesting. You can no longer ration the beauty you once saw in a squirrel rummaging through garbage or that certain awe you felt about seeing a green color in a window at night. You felt something new in the shade of the light. Something different. So where does this appreciation, this universal connection, you have felt go?
Has the concept of wonder left us? In our day to day lives we become jaded to the simple joys of the world. And maybe those moments of purity, of admiration, of beauty are just small rays of innocence and naivety that shine through our walls of mundane acceptance.
I've noticed that the people who do notice the beauty of the everyday are scene as 'eccentric' possibly a little crazy or this new fashionable term 'hipster', which I think is a mix between being a hippie, educated, vegetarian, and probably poor. But what's that about? So many of my collegiate friends look upon this subculture mockingly. But who can really judge? Who decided the way to live an American life. Some become happy about a paycheck or a bigger house or a boat with a terrible name. And some find their happiness in being happy about living, at being content. Some want to live in a world away from the chaos and desires of wants. They desire nothing really. Just some piece of mind. Because we all know, we can never have the whole pie.
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Chaos is not given enough credit in the world we live in. People strive for perfection and tranquility, yet through their persistent hammering and tolling away, more chaos is being created than if they simply existed. By doing more, you create more, and by creating more, you have an inequal balance to which a duality must even the scales. One creates. One must destory. The green light eludes us now as it did Jay...it constantly shines, but one does not know how to achieve it. "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." We can move forward...but we keep being pushed back. Maybe stagnancy is the way life is supposed to be lived? Maybe we are meant to see everything around us, and not the dream. Just maybe.
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