As I grow older I have become more acutely aware of the limitations of my Being. I’ve carved out my own path, and it is a road that I am glad that I am walking down, but there is a certain lamenting that it is the only road that I can walk down. I am sure we’ve all experienced the desire to be more than one thing, and it is painful that we do not have the thousand years of life that would enable us to live more lives.I’d gladly beg God for the right to live more than one life because I feel that there is too much to learn for this short time span — about both the Spiritual and the Mundane.
I am jealous that I’ll likely never know at all the life of a chef, or the life of a geologist or that of an artist or tattooist. More than this: I’ll never know what it is like to be born & raised as a Muslim or a Jew or a Hindu or any number of other beliefs and lifestyles. What would it be like to live in the sharp and penetrating Russian tongue, or the soft lilting beauty of Swedish? What of the rolling & often dramatic Spanish of Mexico, or the more sloppy Portuguese? What of the cutting & grating tones of the Inner Mongolian Chinese, or the sing-song tones of the South? To understand the throaty Arabic or the ‘French of the Middle East’ Persian… I regret that I only speak two languages well, but I know that if the number were ever increased the ability in my second language would be compromised, something I am not willing to sacrifice.
And even to be a girl — what would it be like to be one of those lovely girls with precious hair and a delicate face, inviting eyes and curvy hips? What would it be like to look into mirrors and prepare my face? What would it be like to look through feminine eyes at brutal displays of masculinity, or to have a man worthy of affection try to charm me? What would it be like to be in larger arms, beneath the larger beauty, being “taken?”
(Or even to struggle as the awkward & ugly duckling, forever trying to mold & shape a body that I hated… A sad existence, perhaps, but vanity can always be overcome with intellect, and with effort we can all find places in the sun.)
I have a few female friends with whom I am extremely close — they are witty & pretty & I know their secrets & I see them when their faces are plain and when their faces are like dolls; I know their Grin of Mischief & their Shy Smile. I know well about their role, their ways of life… I am jealous to some degree. What would it have been to be one of these Noble Women?
And what would it be like to be a gay man, “top” or “bottom?” Going out to “those bars with the rainbow flags?” What is gay chemistry like? What is it like to have a ‘secret’ that might break your mom’s heart and might earn you a knuckle sandwich from the local boys? Something I’ll never know. Though I do have my ideological stands which prevent me from condoning such a lifestyle I have to confess I’d only be interested in ‘experiencing gay life’ in a society where it is vaguely taboo — not where it’d earn me death like Iran, or praise like San Francisco, but a society where I was on the ‘edge’ of it and engaging in the risky behavior… I can see value in such a life. In a sense, I chose such a life at a young age, social rebellion often times seemingly just for rebellion’s sake.
In struggle there is glory; in Easy Life there is only subtle victories whose meanings are lost. I think any person would rather live a life of Meaningful Pain spotted with Meaningful Pleasure than one where all things are a mere exercise of one’s undulating freedom & comfort.
For me what has always brought life together is Existential Romance. Those little meetings of laughter & drinks & when the chin tilts slightly down and the lips slowly part for small kisses. I’d like to enjoy that in a million different contexts. But such a thing is impossible — part of me thinks the ‘ideal’ reality would be one of Countless Rebirths…
They say that ‘life is pain,’ but I’ll endure a thousand lives gladly. Life is a lot of pain but these are all in contrast to the other moments.
I look forward to my Elder Years. I look forward to the Throat Cancer.
Sitting somewhere with a bottle of Vodka and looking at the setting sun illuminating the dying leaves of Autumn while I drink deeply and feel the Warm Numbness. Thinking of a thousand faces of the past. I find the museum of my memories to be enjoyable — and how great it will be when the Story is almost done for me & my friends, and I can look to the next generation and see the path they plod down.
I think the only sad thing is that we cannot do it all again in a different context with the same knowledge to enjoy Similar Fruits with Different Mouths. We are limited in our context…
Our existence is unfortunately limited and our context is only that of a Single Human, so part of the pleasure we must take is the imagination of being Other People. I’ll try to spend more time imagining the Lives of Others and the beauty of such existences that does not meet the eye.
I think what drives me most to want to Write a proper novel is to capture the beauty of alternative forms of life which I’ll never have the Honor of enjoying.
I think what drives me most to be a Lover is to try to ‘take into myself’ the ‘Whole’ of another’s beautiful life, and to consume it and make a part of it me, even if it is only for a short time. Your lover is your ‘Better Half,’ and in the recesses of my mind are memories of Better Halves & a better understanding of what it was to be a different existence.
You could say we are driven by a ‘sex drive,’ or by some sort of ‘ego’ that feels a reward when we get sex or get pleasure from another, but such a malicious way to view it. It is a view that acts as if there is not an intrinsic reward in social interaction brought to its climax within the context of the ‘social animal.’
My proof against this is my Friends.
I have no sexual drive or desire to be with them but whenever I see unique people with good hearts & minds I desire to spend so much time talking & being in their presence, exchanging stories & making new stories.
If it was all about ‘sex drive’ then I would spend my days in the loud clubs & meat markets in different neighborhoods looking for Air Headed floozies that only can give me their Shell of an existence, because their Shell is essentially all that they have; their cold, dumb, ignorant eyes have no flame and they flicker out when conversation goes too far from the obvious, material things in their lives. There is no reason to get their numbers & break bread. My left hand is also a shell & makes for a better companion as It make no demands for pseudo-conversation or breakfast.
I am grateful for my super-social existence and I hope to one day have enough money to experience this freely in many different places & environments for the purpose of acquainting myself with this world before I go away.