Seldom They Are

Seldom they are but so desperately wanted these moments of calm quiet that linger ever on in a horizon of longing where just beyond my fingertips is a rest luring me to its presence where all else is still, all anguish is languished and like a lover’s arms, repose is omnipresent and omnipotent, never hurried or rushed, all encompassing and all that is needed to melt away the bothersome burdens bestowed upon my living moments of being and becoming, changing and restructuring, learning and relying on my knowledge attained through trial and error, observation and applying, shaping and reshaping my perceptions of persevering the many facets of being alive.  Knowing that as I have grown I have been both amazed and bewildered throughout the avenues of all areas concerning the emotional stratospheres of the world around me while at the same time remain an individual who like all other persons can only understand through my own life’s perspective.  For as is with all learning I can only grasp with my mind what it has the capability to understand within its own experiences regardless of empathy or apathy towards myself and others.   As it is, I’m often divided against the confusions that others provide for my knowing due to a lack of personal experience, aware that my own understanding of any one thing is a limited scrutiny of mine own personal encounters with living, learning, loving and loss in the circles of rational realizations and as I so often have been left to my own reasoning to comprehend.  Often, for lack of reason, I linger upon the cusp of wanting to understand while the unfolding events play out before me for no other rationality than… one instance doesn’t make a lifetime and one lifetime is never held with an instance regardless of its substance.  To think so would be to stare at a drop of water sitting poised on the end of a sewing needle balanced between its own gravity and the physics of the possible and plausible, the indelible and the unbelievable, daring any effort to defy its doing of.  For such is all things living and creating ever onward in the spheres about us whereas one word doesn’t make a sentence, nor a paragraph, nor a book as one petal doesn’t make a flower or a garden and one star doesn’t make a galaxy, unless in the mind’s eye it is first seen in all its possible expanse.  Such is that place just there in my mind, unspeakable in the stillness of my thoughts, where solely the lingering want of it entices me to its existence and emboldens me to constantly be in want of its presence where for a time there is no need for naught except the tranquility of onlyness.  Selfish, egotistical, self-centered onlyness where for a moment in this eternity I am neither someone’s child, someone’s sibling, someone’s parent, someone’s dependent, someone’s help, someone’s grandchild, someone’s niece, someone’s cousin, someone’s chance, someone’s scrutiny, someone’s observation or objective, someone’s mate, someone’s responsibility, someone’s liability, someone’s diversity, someone’s ambition, someone’s cause, someone’s effect, someone’s action or someone’s consequence; only my only to know.  Shedding all likeness and effort of the influences that have embedded my thoughts and clearing the way for the understanding of myself.  Eliminating the magnificent mirages of the manifold minds that have offered their pleas and allowing the wants of all my own longings to fill their true convictions so that I may know them as they are in their most simple elegance of fulfillment.

Which basically is to say, that that kid everyone didn’t know, who was always off somewhere else in their thoughts, without an opinion on what everyone else was talking about and never really understood anything anyone else was trying to say anyway, or even cared that they thought saying it would make it any more real to me, is still alive in my mind somewhere, still wanting to know itself in all of the ways it imagined, even if it is just printed on a page. Jade Jaspers