The greatest fault of my generation, is the fear of missing out. It is the force which drives us. We value experiences over money, it merely serves us to gain more experiences. We chase after them wildly, like wolves after a rabbit. We fear missing out on seeing the world, on doing something meaningful, on going to that fabulous party, on bringing a child to this world and feeling unconditional love. We surround ourselves with the technology to remind us of that fear. Pictures on Facebook of events that we didn't attend, movies of times we never lived in, music of worlds we could not inhabit. But we dream, oh how we dream. In our dreams we wrap our arms around time and space, we scavenge the earth forever until all is lived. Do we not know that we have experienced so much more already than those who came before us?
The poetry of my generation lies in the chasing after the experience, which is our greatest experience in the end. One day we will come to realize that. When our bodies slow down and finally we start looking at the ravages around us.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Memories
The leaves looked the same last year, catching the light from the yellow streetlights. First I see the dog and then I see him, his cap on his head, walking hastily as always.
And I remember suddenly, standing with him in the forest at twilight, looking out over the house as he was showing me the property. He told me about how they built the garden and how the children collected rocks for the paths. His cell phone rang and it was his son calling. His voice softened and he called him a funny petname. I looked at the lights coming from the house and I did not want to go back. He told me about the motocross area and how they disliked the sound. We passed a small castle in which they sometimes dined with the people living there.
I remember sitting in the car next to him, with the dogs in the back. And carrying lunch over the dunes to the beach. He was like an uncle who knew many things.
I remember being the first one to wake, stepping into the only hot room in the house as I was shaking with cold. I remember looking into the old tainted mirror. And him, showing me how to sweep the dust from the concrete floor.
And I remember suddenly, standing with him in the forest at twilight, looking out over the house as he was showing me the property. He told me about how they built the garden and how the children collected rocks for the paths. His cell phone rang and it was his son calling. His voice softened and he called him a funny petname. I looked at the lights coming from the house and I did not want to go back. He told me about the motocross area and how they disliked the sound. We passed a small castle in which they sometimes dined with the people living there.
I remember sitting in the car next to him, with the dogs in the back. And carrying lunch over the dunes to the beach. He was like an uncle who knew many things.
I remember being the first one to wake, stepping into the only hot room in the house as I was shaking with cold. I remember looking into the old tainted mirror. And him, showing me how to sweep the dust from the concrete floor.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Something dangerous
My mind is fuzzy, I cannot seem to place my thoughts in the right compartment of my brain. And why do I feel like a robot, mechanically directing my movements? It is strange to live this way. I don't know what caused it and I don't know how to stop it. I meditate and eat well and sleep well and I'm working a job that I like, I'm seeing my friends, taking walks in nature. I'm doing everything right, so why does it feel wrong?
I feel like I'm constantly moving, keeping myself busy. But I panic when there's nothing to keep me entertained. When I find myself not knowing what to do I get this feeling as if I've had three cups of coffee in a row. I'm frantically looking at the checklist in my head, but I cannot bring myself to clean the bathroom right now. I need a good book or a good movie because it's too early to go to sleep. I need something good. Right now.
I'm scared to sit still in my room and do nothing.
And then comes along this great peace of art. And the thing that good art does, is it slaps you in the face and forces you to stand still. I realize suddenly what was wrong. I've stopped believing in miracles. This work of art reminded me of them.
There's no room for miracles in your life when you are being your own slave driver, like David Henry Thoreau so rightly describes. I need to sit still in my room and contemplate the beauty of art and life. Even though it is scary to do so. And even though good art is being ridiculed within the public domain and seems to become more scarce every day. Never stop searching for something that touches your soul, coming from the soul of another human being.
Even though this used to be my natural state of mind once, I find it extremely hard right now. And I need to literally force myself to sit down and not think about anything that I'm supposed to do. The moment of release comes when there's nothing I can bring myself to do. That's when I let go. Some good calm music helps: Arvo Part. It needs to become a normal part of my life again. I'm glad I realize that now.
I feel like I'm constantly moving, keeping myself busy. But I panic when there's nothing to keep me entertained. When I find myself not knowing what to do I get this feeling as if I've had three cups of coffee in a row. I'm frantically looking at the checklist in my head, but I cannot bring myself to clean the bathroom right now. I need a good book or a good movie because it's too early to go to sleep. I need something good. Right now.
I'm scared to sit still in my room and do nothing.
And then comes along this great peace of art. And the thing that good art does, is it slaps you in the face and forces you to stand still. I realize suddenly what was wrong. I've stopped believing in miracles. This work of art reminded me of them.
There's no room for miracles in your life when you are being your own slave driver, like David Henry Thoreau so rightly describes. I need to sit still in my room and contemplate the beauty of art and life. Even though it is scary to do so. And even though good art is being ridiculed within the public domain and seems to become more scarce every day. Never stop searching for something that touches your soul, coming from the soul of another human being.
Even though this used to be my natural state of mind once, I find it extremely hard right now. And I need to literally force myself to sit down and not think about anything that I'm supposed to do. The moment of release comes when there's nothing I can bring myself to do. That's when I let go. Some good calm music helps: Arvo Part. It needs to become a normal part of my life again. I'm glad I realize that now.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Storm
He leans to the back and slides down across the back of the seat. He is now sitting on the floor to my right. I move my bag, so it will not be in his way. In doing so, the chord from my headphones gets stuck between his arm and my armrest. I pull the chord and I have to look at him now. "I'm sorry", he says nervously. "It's okay", I respond, smiling. I can tell he was not expecting this. He looks relieved, as though he thought I was going to snap at him. He's probably seen a lot of snapping today. People screaming, daring each other to a fight, beating each other up, yelling, swearing, spitting, drinking, vomiting. The same people with whom we are crammed-up here in this tiny space. It is as if I told him everything was going to be fine. The world is only like that for a day. There are still people out there who do their homework with headphones on and smile. He leans back and pulls his blond bleached hair behind his ears. Everytime someone near us swears or screams, he glances at me, to see how I will react. But I am made of stone. I am an island of peace and calm. I do not even blink. A man next to us start whistling at a blond girl. He doesn't stop. He whistles and whistles louder and louder. It pierces my headphones. The man is getting no reaction. So he starts yelling. His voice scraping, bouncing off peoples shoulders. "Whore, whore, whore." It goes on and on. Tension starts building up. I can feel it in my stomach as I try hard to hold on the the letters on my page. The girl goes to the man. She has to move three people first. When she gets there she asks his what his fucking problem is. He replies: "What, bitch". My eyes are fixated now on the violence that is about to erupt. I can see the built up tension on her face from enduring the whistling and swearing for the past half an hour. She breaks. And gives him a hard blow in the face. People start moving fast everywhere. The man gets up and starts beating and punching the girl. This is the first time I feel my body getting physically scared. My mind is still calm, but my heart is pumping adrenaline. A hand to my right moves over my legs. It grabs the armseat to my left and holds on to it tightly. Everyone jumps upon one another. I see thick vains and red skin and eyes almost popping out of skulls. But his arm hovers over me like a shield. There is a storm in this train wagon. I never once look him in the eyes. But his arm is there. In the midst of this barbaric cruelty. An arm made of brown skin and warm flesh. And as the storm blows over, he draws his arm back. I go back again to the island I was before.
I do not understand the need of man for violence and destruction. I do not understand why people are wired for them. But I know in the midst of them you can see tenderness.
I do not understand the need of man for violence and destruction. I do not understand why people are wired for them. But I know in the midst of them you can see tenderness.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The extraordinary
I closed my book, walked out of the library and took the elevator down. Once outside I took my bike from the shed and cycled into the dark night. One of the first spring nights of the year. I saw a man staring at the sky. I followed his gaze.
And I startled. Against the dark, starry sky, there was this extraordinary thing. A giant rainbow filled the air. It wasn't a real rainbow, like one you'd see during the day. I could see the source coming from a university building in the distance. But the coloured rays of light were so strong and big, they pierced the sky for as far as I could see, covering the city. As I stopped to look, I saw the colours slightly hovering, almost like they made a sound. I felt like I could jump up and touch them. I saw them beaming across the freeway and imagined the people coming home from work, tired, weary even maybe, suddenly seeing this rainbow above the traffic lights. How they would wonder at this sudden marvel, just like I did.
This, I thought, is real art. You take something daily, ordinary (a rainbow) and make it into something extraordinary (a giant rainbow at night for the entire city to see). And it demands your immediate attention. You cannot look away. There's nothing you need to say. You just stare. Any thoughts about the past or future you had the moment before are gone. It's like receiving a gift. You know someone out there took the effort for you to see this. It unites. People around you see the same thing, and you know that about each other. It's all that counts in that specific moment, not the difference between you and the other, but the same thing you are looking at right here, right now.
And I startled. Against the dark, starry sky, there was this extraordinary thing. A giant rainbow filled the air. It wasn't a real rainbow, like one you'd see during the day. I could see the source coming from a university building in the distance. But the coloured rays of light were so strong and big, they pierced the sky for as far as I could see, covering the city. As I stopped to look, I saw the colours slightly hovering, almost like they made a sound. I felt like I could jump up and touch them. I saw them beaming across the freeway and imagined the people coming home from work, tired, weary even maybe, suddenly seeing this rainbow above the traffic lights. How they would wonder at this sudden marvel, just like I did.
This, I thought, is real art. You take something daily, ordinary (a rainbow) and make it into something extraordinary (a giant rainbow at night for the entire city to see). And it demands your immediate attention. You cannot look away. There's nothing you need to say. You just stare. Any thoughts about the past or future you had the moment before are gone. It's like receiving a gift. You know someone out there took the effort for you to see this. It unites. People around you see the same thing, and you know that about each other. It's all that counts in that specific moment, not the difference between you and the other, but the same thing you are looking at right here, right now.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The age of instant gratification
Yesterday I heard this song and I really liked it. I looked it up on youtube and there it was. Ready for me to play as many times as I wanted. All I had to do was push the button over and over again.
When I was young, I used to listen to the radio very often. I always had a favourite song for a certain amount of weeks. I would hear it for the first time and my ears would sharpen. "I like this song," is what I would think. And then the next time it played, I would be thrilled. "There's that song again I liked so much!" And over the next couple of weeks I would sometimes turn on the radio and silently wish for the song to be played. I craved for it to be played. Begging inside my head: "Please, please, play my favourite song." And then, whenever I could hear the first notes, it would be magical. I would jump up and down and dance and sing out loud in my room. I captured that moment, because I knew I was lucky to hear it and it was going to be done in a few minutes. And then I'd have to wait until the next time it would come along.
Sometimes it can be a real blessing to get what you want instantly.
But something gets lost there as well. It's like we don't know how to desire anymore. To want something so bad that is out of reach. To get to know your desire, to sit with it, to taste it on your tongue, to let your hands slide over it in your dreams. There a physical pain almost, an aching.
It's uncomfortable. And we don't like that. We don't have time to sit with our desires. We seek instant gratification and build our world around it using the internet, 24 hour shops, modern communication. But not only our world. Also our dreams. We think it's nonsense to dream of something you can never have. A dream is something to pursue, something to be made real, something to go after. But what about the dreaming itself? What about the desire? We believe people who fail to live their dreams, who's desires are not fulfilled, are losers. Because in this world we can have whatever we want, all we have to do is reach out and grab it. We are responsible ourselves for the pursuit of our dreams. I even believe that for a great deal of the time. And I end up blaming myself for being a loser.
A few weeks ago I met this wonderful, beautiful girl. She's eleven years old. And she asked me: "Do you want to know what my deepest wish is?" I answered "Yes, please." And she said it was kind of silly, but her deepest wish was to be able to fly. "Not in an airplane or a machine," she added, "But with wings, real wings growing from my back." And I was struck. I suddenly remembered having the same wish when I was her age. I sometimes dreamed about it at night, soaring above the houses feeling so free, so liberated. But also being awake. I would imagine how it would feel to soar, to swim the sky. I had forgotten all about that dream. I looked at the girl in admiration for being able to dream without boundaries. I suddenly understood that dreaming and desiring is not necessarily something that appeals to your responsibility to seek gratification. Dreaming and desiring can be in fact: the point.
When I was young, I used to listen to the radio very often. I always had a favourite song for a certain amount of weeks. I would hear it for the first time and my ears would sharpen. "I like this song," is what I would think. And then the next time it played, I would be thrilled. "There's that song again I liked so much!" And over the next couple of weeks I would sometimes turn on the radio and silently wish for the song to be played. I craved for it to be played. Begging inside my head: "Please, please, play my favourite song." And then, whenever I could hear the first notes, it would be magical. I would jump up and down and dance and sing out loud in my room. I captured that moment, because I knew I was lucky to hear it and it was going to be done in a few minutes. And then I'd have to wait until the next time it would come along.
Sometimes it can be a real blessing to get what you want instantly.
But something gets lost there as well. It's like we don't know how to desire anymore. To want something so bad that is out of reach. To get to know your desire, to sit with it, to taste it on your tongue, to let your hands slide over it in your dreams. There a physical pain almost, an aching.
It's uncomfortable. And we don't like that. We don't have time to sit with our desires. We seek instant gratification and build our world around it using the internet, 24 hour shops, modern communication. But not only our world. Also our dreams. We think it's nonsense to dream of something you can never have. A dream is something to pursue, something to be made real, something to go after. But what about the dreaming itself? What about the desire? We believe people who fail to live their dreams, who's desires are not fulfilled, are losers. Because in this world we can have whatever we want, all we have to do is reach out and grab it. We are responsible ourselves for the pursuit of our dreams. I even believe that for a great deal of the time. And I end up blaming myself for being a loser.
A few weeks ago I met this wonderful, beautiful girl. She's eleven years old. And she asked me: "Do you want to know what my deepest wish is?" I answered "Yes, please." And she said it was kind of silly, but her deepest wish was to be able to fly. "Not in an airplane or a machine," she added, "But with wings, real wings growing from my back." And I was struck. I suddenly remembered having the same wish when I was her age. I sometimes dreamed about it at night, soaring above the houses feeling so free, so liberated. But also being awake. I would imagine how it would feel to soar, to swim the sky. I had forgotten all about that dream. I looked at the girl in admiration for being able to dream without boundaries. I suddenly understood that dreaming and desiring is not necessarily something that appeals to your responsibility to seek gratification. Dreaming and desiring can be in fact: the point.
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