the art of being
living is an endeavour.
and no, not the experiences and stimuli we bombard ourselves with. but the simple things. the stripped down, bare-boned processes that are fundamental to existence. the processes that constitute occupying a physical space.
its quite a miracle understanding how the body works. passively. the pumping of blood around our vessels; the rush of air into our nasal canals that gape for oxygen without compulsion, without thought; the way our fingers curl, swoop, dive towards points of irritability on our skin. a human body is an amalgamation of so many intricate processes, all of which go about themselves and engage themselves in seamless, effortless ways. but what all this points to - to me - is the difficulty of living.
in just a physical sense, our existence is contingent upon an array of detailed biological phenomena all working faultlessly in isolation, and (perhaps more difficultly) in tandem. and any one of them being slightly misaligned can result in catastrophic consequences. sometimes in the midst of my day, i take a moment to be one with myself. i close my eyes and block out all the auditory waves around me - feeling the slight ascension of my chest when i inhale, hearing my heart calmly pump like the faint rumble of an approaching ebb. sometimes in my silence, i hear my joints creak, the shuffling of nerves beneath my skin, the many many voices in my head.
and im finding that more and more. im becoming aware of each of these processes, and just how hard it is to live. my breaths are getting heavier, my heart getting weaker. my eyes getting blearier. everyday clouds my vision a little bit more, and i try harder to keep my feet on the ground and molecules intact.
perhaps im over-thinking things.
rest assured im not close to death. neither do i have self-destructive thoughts. but it is strange how the more i ruminate about the fundamental aspects of my being, the more overwhelmed and awestruck i am by the art of being itself.
in fact, whenever we learn a new language. one of the first and most important verbs we learn to use in that language is 'to be' - the verb of existence, presence, occupation and significance. to say that "there is a cat" creates the cat, and forces it into physicality. the cat creates a space, a disruption in a realm once untouched and barren, but now unequivocally and irreversibly changed. to say "something has happened" creates an indelible shift in the flow of time, a dent in chronology and a permanent experience.
such is the power of being and having been. and perhaps it is no wonder why 'being' is such a Byzantine (read: complicated) task in itself. because it deserves to be. nothing so powerful and influential can ever come without a lick of consequence or challenge. nothing that propounds objects and ideas of such finality can materialise without a degree of impediment and convolution.
and therein lies my interpretation of living and its struggles. life is hard because living is powerful. and along with this difficulty comes a great deal of innate value - why throw away something that's so elusive? something that is so influential yet miraculous? cherish your person. your space. your dent in the continuum. and be matter than matters.
and no, not the experiences and stimuli we bombard ourselves with. but the simple things. the stripped down, bare-boned processes that are fundamental to existence. the processes that constitute occupying a physical space.
its quite a miracle understanding how the body works. passively. the pumping of blood around our vessels; the rush of air into our nasal canals that gape for oxygen without compulsion, without thought; the way our fingers curl, swoop, dive towards points of irritability on our skin. a human body is an amalgamation of so many intricate processes, all of which go about themselves and engage themselves in seamless, effortless ways. but what all this points to - to me - is the difficulty of living.
in just a physical sense, our existence is contingent upon an array of detailed biological phenomena all working faultlessly in isolation, and (perhaps more difficultly) in tandem. and any one of them being slightly misaligned can result in catastrophic consequences. sometimes in the midst of my day, i take a moment to be one with myself. i close my eyes and block out all the auditory waves around me - feeling the slight ascension of my chest when i inhale, hearing my heart calmly pump like the faint rumble of an approaching ebb. sometimes in my silence, i hear my joints creak, the shuffling of nerves beneath my skin, the many many voices in my head.
and im finding that more and more. im becoming aware of each of these processes, and just how hard it is to live. my breaths are getting heavier, my heart getting weaker. my eyes getting blearier. everyday clouds my vision a little bit more, and i try harder to keep my feet on the ground and molecules intact.
perhaps im over-thinking things.
rest assured im not close to death. neither do i have self-destructive thoughts. but it is strange how the more i ruminate about the fundamental aspects of my being, the more overwhelmed and awestruck i am by the art of being itself.
in fact, whenever we learn a new language. one of the first and most important verbs we learn to use in that language is 'to be' - the verb of existence, presence, occupation and significance. to say that "there is a cat" creates the cat, and forces it into physicality. the cat creates a space, a disruption in a realm once untouched and barren, but now unequivocally and irreversibly changed. to say "something has happened" creates an indelible shift in the flow of time, a dent in chronology and a permanent experience.
such is the power of being and having been. and perhaps it is no wonder why 'being' is such a Byzantine (read: complicated) task in itself. because it deserves to be. nothing so powerful and influential can ever come without a lick of consequence or challenge. nothing that propounds objects and ideas of such finality can materialise without a degree of impediment and convolution.
and therein lies my interpretation of living and its struggles. life is hard because living is powerful. and along with this difficulty comes a great deal of innate value - why throw away something that's so elusive? something that is so influential yet miraculous? cherish your person. your space. your dent in the continuum. and be matter than matters.
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