The Resilience of the Alive
As you crawl across the forest of thickets and thorns, you critically examine how in the hell you can make it through. In a long moment of mental absolution, you acknowledge how you can barely remember who you are, let alone any pertinent knowledge to extract. The library has been abandoned. The books of dreams were shipped some time ago to Tallahassee or Soda Springs or somewhere else that sounds like a fictional setting.
Most of the time the details of dreams are beyond comprehension to the efficacy of the brain. Stagnancy and stillness are irrelevant strategically. Even as you sleep, the world is moving. Inertia … moving! Those mountains … moving! Disappointment and despair are prevalent from the top down, as well as from the bottom up. No matter which way you’re headed, there are obstacles and hurdles, but which ones will you jump? Confusion can replace knowledge, but those details of dreams that are left under the bed, hidden in the dust, are there. What your instinct knows is more important than your conscious mind.
Oh how far down the wrong path we can go, but who can legitimately argue or define such a thing as a wrong path? If you swing across the jungle on a seductive vine, who is to blame for a path rearranged? Tarzan, Jane, or all the navel-gazing animals contemplating their existence on the periphery of the camera’s lens?
Chaos, meet your doppelgänger. Hopscotch the numbers, the boxes, the smiles. If our chalk-etched stories get hit with rain, they do still remain, somewhere in the obverse reflection of a puddle. From the much traveled sidewalks to the-middle-of-nowhere trees, the eyes of the warm and cold-blooded beasts remain relatively the same. Light enters into the dark opening at the center of their iris.
Sometimes variables multiplied by variables equal an enormity of pain. When you feel like giving up, what you’re doing is missing, forgetting, or simply ignoring the core principle of everything. Whether it be the first fall or the nine-thousand-seven-hundredth slip, the resilience of the alive goes to the deepest core of the universe itself. Despite this principle of permanence, life is tough. It is tougher than anyone can describe with merely words. At times, the wounds do not just seem to be — but are deeper than what today or this evening can take. Hold on, my friend. The sunrise is real. As long as there is a sunrise, there is hope.
And the sunrise will come.
