Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Some days are spectacular. Words shine, pictures glimmer and the roads are rife with possibility. Action calls like it is the only course of life. Like movement is joyful and stillness a waste of muscle. I wake up and scan through my emails. Advisors have emailed, friends written in and news has filtered in that my research continues to retain a modicum of sense. The newspaper points to new avenues of explorability and business is sound. I am sound.

Wicker chairs have been cleaned and the floor squeaks with cleanliness and gaiety. The radio buzzes and mothers wave goodbye to children in the streets. The sun calls.The day wanes, but not my day. It continues to cut through the squalor with the vague sense of hope that I need but sometimes scorn. Cutting through cynicism, sense and rationale, it brushes aside my objections and relegates control to all else.
Where is it that people live? On the edge of the skin, within reach of my hand or on the borders of the world? When they wake up everyday, where is it that they want to go?

Festering, mutering, yelling, yelping, how is it that they reach out?

Once a year, I would like to be in consonance. Mind and soul in harmony with the body, the body at peace in the world. Trotting in perfect rhythm.

Today as I conducted an interview, I found myself saying all the right things. And feeling far more. Or was it less? I wanted to peep out of my skin and whisper to him that he must not tell me all this. And no, I will not abuse it, I will not betray him. But he must not. All I can do is listen.

I am a great listener, a bad translator and an insincere interlocutor. I could never own what he might want to share.

Cardinal sin. Pretence.