“What matters in life is not what happens to you, but what you remember and how you remember it.” ~ Gabriel Gárcia Márquez
My mind is caught up in a summation of insignificance.
The wheels are turning, the fuel is burning, but I fret my imagination is not churning anything meaningful.
This be my greatest daily tribulation.
For a day without revelation, without revelry and inspiration, without the exultation and respect and awe of everything that sparkles about me is a day rife with ennui.
And sometimes, somehow, mysteriously, even though I well know reality is up to me, strangely I have these dour days anyway.
In retrospect, I am amazed that I do, because I know there are infinite opportunities to pursue when you make-believe your strife into a charming and vigorous way of living; when you conjure and conceive, love and deceive, adore and grieve in a world of infinite dimension. And that in this limitless cognitive space will and possibility supercede economy and probability, and all the numbers that instill doubt and fear, and compel to wet the bed in which we dream.
For what goes on in our head determines what seems and what happens outside the physiological limits of the cranial sponge. Reality is either as wonderful as we believe it can become—or as drab and dreadful as one blindly accepts it to be.
Which is why the enigma of these rare moments of melancholic tedium baffle me, as I know well enough that I must not succumb to mediocrity and boredom, conformity and superstition, and all that my intuition rallies against.
So, I charge myself to wake up! And make it all up if I have to, as long as I live well enough to tell the tale.
Instead of trying to understand the significance of words,
my contemporaries prefer to calculate
the value of the letters that make them up.
And these they manipulate to suit their own ends—
adding, subtracting, dividing, and multiplying
and always ending up with a figure
that will astonish, reassure or terrify them.
And so human thought is diluted,
and human reason weakened
and dissolved in superstition!”
~ Balthassar’s Odyssey,
Amin Maalouf
daily archives
l.m