There's nothing like the veil of the night to force one's mind into submission. And perhaps a little of its magic too, the stillness of its wrap, full base of noiseless sound, the tingling.
I'm tired. To be more exact, I'm drained. Of emotion, and energy, and even a little essence. The words stick to my brain like scratch-and-sniffs...I'm slowly peeling them off, one by one, into the flow of what I've learned about sentences, nouns, verbs.
I used to think Kelly Clarkson was crazy, singing "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" as a way to convince herself that this was true, as a way to cope--wishful thinking. I was under the impression that the only people who agree with her are the ones who've never felt like death, who've never experienced real pain, who've never had their heart broken and rebuilt like a stone, a shame...
But now I'm starting to think she's onto something. I'm starting to think Life is more about death, about how much you can take before you fall, about how much you're willing to give. Will you sacrifice it all?
My grandma asked me today what I write.
Creative non-fiction, I said.
Do you write about your brothers? she asked.
I thought about this for a while.
No, I responded. Not really.
Well, she continued, that's probably good, because their story doesn't have an ending yet. So, is it an autobiography?
No, I answered.
Only why do I feel like I can't write an ending?
Why do I feel as if there's no end to a story that doesn't exist entire, to a story I can't even own as mine?
This thought got me thinking about circles again, imperfect ones yes, but just the nature of the circle. I think I've always thought wrongly about circles, because even though the shape doesn't end, you have to lift your pencil at some point. Or do you? Would you go crazy if you kept drawing lines over the old ones? Perhaps. What if the circle kept changing, though? What if there is a mystery in the madness?
I'm warning you this isn't a very accurate metaphor. For one, I don't know if I'm speaking about the metanarrative of life or about a specific story. Although I have a pretty good idea it might be both.
Do stories truly end? Well yes, the book ends, the chapters reach blank space, but not the best ones, not really. We've all heard the cliched statements about how stories live on, legends. The good ones do, though, whether or not the cliche transforms into something else, in your memory, in your emotions, in the lives of others. And if this is true, then there must be something that conquers death. There must be something that keeps the circle going.
...and with this, something comes to mind, a mystery--a name that people say sometimes, in vain. This name knew pain.
So when I feel defeated at the end of the day, when I'm tempted to pity myself, I listen to the words in my soul which come to me the day long in silent whispers, tugging at me. I know pain, but I don't.
This world is full of people being defeated by death everyday. The ceasing of the will to fight for what's right, letting love die out because it demands so much, the walking dead are everywhere.
At the end of the day, I'm a fighter. I know the name that conquers death.
All I can do is hope that you're standing next to me.
Faith that you are.
Hope that you will.
Love as our guide.
...I wouldn't be a very good blogger if I didn't answer the question that my title poses. But then, you wouldn't be a very good reader if you didn't realize that I already have.
This ending is a little raw. Like life. Today, I'm okay with that.
For Beauty weighs on the thick night air, and I, in turn, experience Life for the taking.
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