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It's just that time of the night
Dec. 14th, 2009 03:58 amWhat do I live for?
I rarely venture out to ask myself that question, because it requires stopping whatever I'm doing. As the world continues to revolve around a burning star, continues to be in motion, I try to find unmoving, stable ground. An impossibility, if you will; life is anchored on change and motion. But I try. I ask myself, what do you live for? I close my eyes and try to glean something from the intolerable silence of thinking, from the the fairly metronomic, if sometimes faint, beat of my heart. It's always been this same sound, the sound I most associate with my existential conundrum, a sound that haunts me, because it presents no answers; it simply is what it is. I am met with silence, except for the sound of my blood being pumped into a labyrinth of different arteries and veins, the sound of perpetuation, until death claims me. Is this the sound of my existence? Is existing just a beating heart?
Perhaps the answer to the question is life. I live for living, because I exist. But then deep inside me, I know it's not a good enough answer. I fear that I return to these existential constructs when I don't want to delve deeper. Into definition, of this world within and without.
You see, the moment I start desiring definition--wanting to carve myself into something particular--is the moment that I start truly wanting something. And when I fail to get that, whatever that would be... I'm scared of the place I'll be in then. I am hideously afraid of failing, you can quote me on that one. I'm afraid to say out loud what I live for. It's a tall order, and I don't know if I'm the best (wo)man for the job. I'm taking tiny steps toward it, but to what or where... No, I won't say it out loud. Not yet.
I rarely venture out to ask myself that question, because it requires stopping whatever I'm doing. As the world continues to revolve around a burning star, continues to be in motion, I try to find unmoving, stable ground. An impossibility, if you will; life is anchored on change and motion. But I try. I ask myself, what do you live for? I close my eyes and try to glean something from the intolerable silence of thinking, from the the fairly metronomic, if sometimes faint, beat of my heart. It's always been this same sound, the sound I most associate with my existential conundrum, a sound that haunts me, because it presents no answers; it simply is what it is. I am met with silence, except for the sound of my blood being pumped into a labyrinth of different arteries and veins, the sound of perpetuation, until death claims me. Is this the sound of my existence? Is existing just a beating heart?
Perhaps the answer to the question is life. I live for living, because I exist. But then deep inside me, I know it's not a good enough answer. I fear that I return to these existential constructs when I don't want to delve deeper. Into definition, of this world within and without.
You see, the moment I start desiring definition--wanting to carve myself into something particular--is the moment that I start truly wanting something. And when I fail to get that, whatever that would be... I'm scared of the place I'll be in then. I am hideously afraid of failing, you can quote me on that one. I'm afraid to say out loud what I live for. It's a tall order, and I don't know if I'm the best (wo)man for the job. I'm taking tiny steps toward it, but to what or where... No, I won't say it out loud. Not yet.
