Everything's fine today, that is our illusion.

see book description. additional note: inspired by the fact i will be moving cross-country in June.

      I look out my window; the moon is enormous, like a big yellow sand dollar racing up the midnight ladder to the highest reaches of infinity. The surreal is my reality as the realization grows that this chapter of my life spins towards its end—I have but weeks left.
      A melancholic feeling has settled over the most mundane of everyday activities. It is an elated genus of nostalgia, the most blissful species of melancholies. A relief and a burden. I’m leaving. I’m getting out. I will be free.
    But at what cost?
    Friendships come and go like teenage trends, that much I have learned in my limited experience. What flourishes today could be dead within hours; that which I exult in today could be my veil of mourning on the morrow. I have no expectations that the majority of the friendships I have made in my stint in this area of the world will last longer than the occasional howareyou, wemissyou, goodbye. The majority of people hereabouts just aren’t wired to think about others. It’s all about them. Them and their petty problems and their petty lives and their petty worries. Their arguments and their complaints. Their excursions into the vast mediocrity. Goddamn their complaints. Goddamn their mediocrity. Goddamn their waste.
    I can't afford to think about that. Their waste. Their mediocrity. Not when I strive so hard to avoid what builds the foundation of their very existence. Not when I have spent the equivalent of weeks awake in the bitter hours of the early morning drinking in the wisdom and the words of long-dead men in an endless race against the commonplace. Not when my struggle upward through thick and jealous currents is cemented in my frank fear of mediocrity.

    It is a race that will only end in death.
    The moon is higher now, scraping its translucent fingers through vast blackness as it continues its scramble upward. I wish I could move that quickly, that frantically, that carelessly through endless being. To be freed of mortal constraints, to be loosed from the material form that binds us all—to have the spirit reach to all corners of eternity and back again. To be relieved at last of such irritating constraints as gravity and mortality, to have the freedom to simply be.
    Is that what Heaven is like? Reaching and grasping, looseness and breathing, seeing and being? Astonishment and awe, completion and satisfaction? One can only wonder…
 

Author's Note

i ramble and play with words. as always, be gracious.