from a certain perspective, life is kinda sappy

well, It was a foul weekend. I found myself late in the week in a mood that did not allow me to cut my fellow man some slack (although I did play some fun hackey-sack with good company). Every overheard tidbit of conversation seemed to be accompanied by the foul reek of ignorance, tepid self-absorbed small little worlds, where nothing of consequence matters. Where the mindless banality of unexamined lives dotted on the dribble that made up the day. Where the majesty and mystery of the world around them was heeded and understood no more than the white noise between incoherent radio personalities. I could have gone on in this vein for hours a couple of days ago but I have spun myself out (but I foreshadow). Anyway, my consuming thought for this period was a remembered exasperated comment from faded on QNY15 who lamented “?what the hell to do people think about all day!” I revisit this theme periodically. When I get like this I feel cursed to be wondrous of the world. I feel condemned to wonder about things. To lie awake at night and ponder why things are not like something else. And it seems (when I’m in this mood) that the further down the path of enquiry one travels, the more you have less in common with everyone else. This is a tired theme, I know. I for one am tired of it. However: On saturday night I went to an oboe recital. The oboe being one of my favorite instruments, I suspected that I would gain some temporary relief from my malaise. I sat in a menonite church waiting for the concert to begin. I noticed the stained glass windows. One panel had a grape motif and I commented to a friend that it was an ironic image. It was a reference to the Dionysian mysteries that christianity literalized. To the christian, the window was a symbol. Of course to the historian, it was a symbol of a literal version of a symbol. Those who have read my QNY pick will unpack my meaning here. Anyway, this pane of glass reinforced my cynicism. Until the music started. The sound of the oboe erased all my petty, inward dialogue and returned my to some baseline, default level of contentment. Until I casually glanced across the pews where my eye caught the sight of a beautiful little chinese girl. She must have been three or so. She I caught her in the act of straining her head to get a better look at what was happening. The expression on her face was pure wonder and total appreciation. As though she were a glass vase with liquid music being poured in. Her whole body was perfectly still. I don’t know if anyone in the audience absorbed the music the way she did, but the sight of it coupled with the music made my throat choke up. For the first time in quite a few days, I felt like I do fit in with this world after all. Perhaps this story is a little sappy but its what happened to me over the last few days and I am endeavouring to free my thoughts from the prison of what I think others will think. So sappy or not, there it is.

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3 Responses to from a certain perspective, life is kinda sappy

  1. Hello. :I’m glad to hear things are brightening up over there. I am in the midst of no fun at all. It sorta seemed like you must have named your blog after you wrote it, which I of course think is weird. I’m going to make my own post now so I can go on at length without being intrusive.I sure do like this guy–> :Ichewing gum you think??

  2. Hey. The capital I in here is different than the capital I out there. Now no one will understand!!(sob sob)

  3. I would have to say that I disagree. Life is never sappy (unless you are a tree–ba-dum-bum), but thinking makes it so. I submit that these mystery people who are going to judge your comments as sappy don’t exist, except perhaps as mean spirited children to whom you need pay no mind.I see the perjorative ‘sappy’ as being overly sentimental–without cause, as it were. Particularly with children, you have only to spend a few moments with them to become envious of the simplicity of their pleasures. But with good cause. The length of time between and the difficulty and complexity of finding pleasure, in similar magnitude, once an adult is daunting to say the least. Taking pity on yourself for your own inability to find peace and at the same time revel in the power of a childs innocence seems like plenty reason to break down into tears.

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