Why must my mind never cease to silence itself. I was doing so well for so long. Then the second I have time to sit by myself, truly, honestly, crushingly alone, it happens. I need to write. I need to draw. I need to create. But I can’t. I can’t draw, so all of these fantastic, mystifying scenes I have playing out within my mind come out being scribbles of stick figures and crudely drawn backgrounds because I have no artistic ability whatsoever. I turn to writing like this. I was always told to keep a journal and I finally see why. There are times like these, the low, lonely, desperate times. I want to write but my thoughts fly by faster than I can move a pen, so I turn to a computer. Then they being to surpass my quick typing, so I try to take my notes down by voice, and then it culminates in a stuttering, disjointed mass of barely connected ideas that make up what goes through my head. It’s always doors, opening and closing. All to different things, different scenarios, different times, and as clichéd as it sounds, sometimes entire worlds. Even as I sit here hammering at my keyboard, things pop in and out of existence and I have no way of recording them. Describing the awe-inspiring things that happen behind my eyes. It’s almost a prison. But it is infinite, and more beautiful than very few things my mortal eyes will lay upon. Good god, I want to be able to show the world what I imagine, but at the same time I’m scared. I’m scared to put in the effort to really learn how to draw, or weave tales through literature, because what if it never comes out how I see it. What if it really isn’t anything nearly as fantastic once I see it realized in physical form? That is my true dilemma. But I guess in the meantime I can sit atop my mountain, alone, and revel in the sheer wonderful ridiculousness of what my mind creates. Maybe one day I’ll be able to share it with someone to its fullest. Let’s just hope that day comes before the inevitable time when my mind has had enough, and lets the creations loose. Not on the world, but on myself. The stronger the light, the thicker the shadows fall.
What if. What..if..what if it…it all turns around? What if we can stand outside, look up at the vastness that is the entirety of existence and not feel impossibly insignificant? As pathetic as this is, once again, I can’t seem to put my thoughts to words, but someone else has. Neil deGrasse Tyson puts it so damn beautifully: “The most astounding fact about the universe is the knowledge that the atoms that comprise life on earth, the atoms that make up the human body, are traceable, to the crucibles, that cooked light elements into heavy elements in their core, under extreme temperatures and pressures. These stars, the high-mass ones among them, went unstable in their later years. They collapsed and then exploded, scattering their enriched guts across the galaxy. Guts made of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and all the fundamental ingredients of life itself. These ingredients, become part of gas clouds, that condense, collapse, form the next generation of solar systems. Stars with orbiting planets. And those planets now have the ingredients for life itself. So that when I look up at the night sky, and I know that yes, we are, part of this universe, we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the universe is in us. When I reflect on that fact, I look up, many people feel small, cuz they’re small and the universe is big, but I feel big. Because, my atoms, came from those stars. There’s a level of connectivity. That’s really what you want in life, you wanna feel connected. You wanna feel relevant. You wanna feel like you’re a participant, in the goings on of activities and events around you. That’s precisely what we are. Just by being alive.”
That is what I want. To be able to look up at the shimmering night sky and not to feel small, stifled, or useless. I want to look up, having the audacity to think that I matter, and feel big.