I started today early, not too early, about half past 6, and I didn’t stop moving till about 1:20.
After the basics, waking up, waking Kat up, taking a shower, waking Kat up again (this time with coffee) etc, I went to visit my sister and spoke about my father, and brother and then mother.
My mother had a day that for anyone else would be quite large, but for my mother is just another day.
I went to my grandparents and locked myself in one of the upstairs bedrooms, (the one with the best phone signal). I laid out my CV, about 25 photos a lot of maps of London, opened up my computer, took out my phone and waited. I was completely still, completely quiet.
It was in that moment that I realised that any second, I could be experiencing a defining moment .
In truth it could easily not have been, it could easily have been an phone call just like every other one, an interview like any other for a job like any other. The truth is that I won’t know for years to come, but the importance was that I took a moment to allow this moment to be significant.
Lately the blog has been an interesting place, a place that I (and I feel both of you as well) check every chance I get to see if something else has been written, something to erase the words of the past. More, to carry the mistakes of the past into the reality of the future. By this I hope you don’t think that I am talking about the post’s themselves as the mistakes, but the actions outlined in them.
I, forever cursed to a non confrontational attitude, agree with you Georg, along with Hans, ashamed to be guilty of the thing I hated the most, arrogance, the very thing I arrogantly accused others of.
It has taken a long time for me to read, accept, an muster the courage to respond truthfully, and ashamed again that it was difficult.
This is going to be another poetic post…
When I auditioned for Columbia (when two certain people replaced the wheels under my chair with bricks!) I was required to memorise a poem by Fernando Pessoa called the Tobacco shop.
Pessoa was a very disturbed man and in some of my darker moments lately I have been reciting the beginning of this poem which goes;
“I am nothing, I shall never be anything, I cannot wish to be anything, but aside from that I have within me all the dreams of the world”
I don’t know whether it was meant as a comfort or not but it is a habit I have discontinued, today I read further into the poem and rediscovered a passage that I prefer;
“But the Tobacco Shop owner has come to the door and is standing there.
I look at him with the discomfort of an half-turned head
Compounded by the discomfort of an half-grasping soul.
He shall die and I shall die.
He shall leave his signboard and I shall leave my poems.
His sign will also eventually die, and so will my poems.
Eventually the street where the sign was will die,
And so will the language in which the poems were written.
Then the whirling planet where all of this happened will die.
On other satellites of other systems some semblance of people
Will go on making things like poems and living under things like signs,
Always one thing facing the other,
Always one thing as useless as the other,
Always the impossible as stupid as reality,
Always the mystery of the bottom as true as the shadow of mystery of the top.
Always this thing or always some other, or neither one nor the other.
But a man has entered the Tobacco Shop (to buy tobacco?),
And plausible reality suddenly hits me.
I half rise to my feet -energetic, sure of myself, human-
And I will try to write these verses in which I say the opposite.”
This may seem a bit left field, but I can say that, for myself at least, existentialism is the cause and effect of my feelings flight and of fall. I thought that if there is a greater meaning to life then I must be a key player, and then I felt as I had not only let myself down but that my ideals had shattered as well.
Is there a meaning to life? I don’t know, Rudyard Kipling may have gotten it right;
“If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
Yours is the Earth, and everything that’s in it”
Life isn’t about what you have achieved, or who’ve you’d had to beat to get there.
The Earth doesn’t belong to those who wish to possess it.
Truly great people do not seek greatness.
Later in life, a now very sick and even more disturbed Pessoa wrote;
“Should I drink something or should I commit suicide?
No; I am going to exist. Dammit! I am going to exist.
Give me something to drink, for I am not thirsty!”
Today’s defining moment may well have been a defining moment for me, and nothing to others , my mother’s may have been nothing to her, and the world to others.
But yesterday’s mistakes realised remain in yesterday, and the future is opened up for a whole new variety of mistakes to be made.
The internet may break, the post destroyed, the memories of those who read it die, the language that I have written this post in be lost, and yet it has been written. And if it is read then it was worth the effort.
YEsterday’s defining moment is obliterated by today’s, but that didn’t make it any less signifIcant.