Lost in Simplicity
Sometimes I catch a sliver of a phrase that contains within it a shard of true insight both innocent and intentional. It could be from a book, A song, an animated film, a graphic novel, someone on the street, or an unexpected observation from my rapidly unraveling mind.
Regardless of the source, with each fragment a tiny piece of an infinitely overwhelming puzzle becomes imperceptibly clearer. It is melancholy of the purest sort, consuming and unapologetic in demanding my remaining attention. The simple beauty of an incomprehensible melody sung in hauntingly sweet Latin conveys to me another missing remnant, while bawdy drunken laughter flush with enjoyment and friendship contribute to the same developing canvas. Those slashes of pigment, echoes of music past and present, phrases, emotions, all collected by senses innumerable and unattributed accumulate piecemeal, fabricating an imperative appealing desperately for understanding.
I wrench these descriptions excruciatingly slowly from my addled brain, describing a nonexistent concept with language utterly incapable of adequately representing the hidden depth humanity has attained while seeking to justify its presence in the universe. We have evolved beyond language but are bound to it irrevocably through the significance of history, convenience, and the sheer complexity necessary in incorporating admittedly excessively abstract conjecture. But that’s just a dry way of appealing for what everyone wants: acceptance and complete interpersonal insight. It’s not a fleeting desire—to feel understood—but one forever beyond our grasp as unashamedly individualistic creatures.
And it’s all part of the picture, the song, the narrative that eclipses the entirety of human creation and encompasses the history of the universe past, present and future. An unfinished masterpiece slowly coalescing from the infinite seeds planted through the expanses of creation. I can feel this visceral, primal instinct within, like some cliché religious experience that there’s truth somewhere in this meandering quibble. A simple singular acquiescence defines this, but offers no explanation. It is with a sad smile I witness the world develop and pay silent homage to the living illustration it represents.
It is these remembered stolen kisses, drawn from passion and overflowing longing for love, each tear shed from disconsolation, nostalgia, and loss, that transforms the melodrama of everyday life into a symphony of urgency and punishing impetus. All these nicks and cuts we endure while carving our haphazard path through life are what finally defines the journey, for shared agony both sweet and sour is the universal language, driven ceaselessly by our unyielding engines of emotion. This is the shimmering chaos which somehow resembles the meaning of tranquility as the universe approaches finality. Until then, I await the elusive trigger, a forever distant flash of insight bringing oblivion into focus.