The writing that I have been scribbling has been taking many different forms over the past couple of weeks. Due to the back and forth stamina I have been creating for myself, I've been somewhat unstable with my words. I have written a collection of poetry/prose over a period of time. It has taken me a while to get these typed up, but now that I have, I am going to take you on a journey through my so-called (existential) crisis.
Destruction is an inevitable idea. Sooner or later everything reverts back to what once was. Each concrete idea stems from something intangible. In one of my classes last semester, my professor focused on the idea of things coming apart, decomposing, so on and so forth. We did some studying of Don McKay's poetry - and I was lucky enough to have a professor that knew him personally. She told us about his phase of poetry that told the untold - explaining the destruction of things already created. He obsessed over small objects like tools in his garage. These tools, although concrete items, will eventually fray apart into the materials that they used to be. Metal rusts, wood rots, people die, and the world spins madly on.
"In a poem, how does language start to undo itself, fray back into air, lean towards wilderness, towards not speaking?".
Through the accounts of terrible mishaps I can now add to my life story, I've been picking up on the destruction and decay of the world around me. While this probably comes across as a tad on the depressing side, I only have the hope of opening up your eyes to the beauty of this frailty we call life. There's one more thing I need to touch upon - the continuous effort of the Earth. Yes, these things decay, and maybe they are no longer what they once were; but the world has not ended as we know it. Something new can be created from the dust of a rotten piece of wood. Plants can pine their way through a compost heap.
After the catastrophe of my car catching fire and losing all my material possessions, I began pondering. It's just stuff. I lost my things, but I did not lose my life. Stemming from this situation, I realized that even though my "life" as I knew it had been destroyed, I was given a chance to start over. While it is a bit devastating (and expensive) to have to replace your wardrobe, art supplies, coat, shoes, and computer - it is also therapeutic. I shed my skin, along with it I shed a lot of memories. Some were good, and some were bad, but it gave me the realization that I need to move forward; start anew.
A little while after this took place, I was walking through the rose garden. The roses are now on their way out of season and slowly dropping. I sat down on the bench in the rose maze, and looked around. At first I was saddened by this beauty being ended - when I realized that the demise is making room for something else to take place. These roses come alive every year. While it may not be the exact same flower that buds, it is the same stem and plant. Each year a new rose will creep its way into a short existence. It falters a bit during rain storms. It thrives in sunlight. It shrivels in too much heat. Then it drops off, and finds its way back to a simple non-existence, making room for a fresh start. Every pretty, peaceful petal is recycled and reused.
After this, I began to spend my time wandering the gardens and paying closer attention to the destruction and re-birth of the plants. When one section of our garden ends, another begins. Each territory is aptly timed to begin a new cycle at the end of another. Our lilies are blooming brightly in lieu of the punctual ending of roses. Drop one thing, and pick up another. Lose all your possessions, and gain a new outlook. Allow it all to fray apart, so that it may begin as something else. Perhaps something brighter, beautiful, and brave. If there's one thing I can say for all of this, it is that time is a rejuvenating skin.
As for me, well, my own world is continuing to spin madly on.
Albeit, I've gotten a bit dizzy from it.
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