After Awhile

After a while we begin to learn that life is more than molecules

And we learn that science is not salvation

And faith is not ignorance

We begin to learn that bias is human

and that no one sees with objectivity

We begin to learn that life is governed by six billion perspectives,

Each struggling to stand on some common ground

And we begin to learn that no space permits two people

We learn that a standing point cannot be shared

And we learn we really are alone and unique

And we learn to accept our losses as well as our gains

And we learn- and we learn

We learn that wisdom is no safeguard from foolishness

And fate is unused to making plans

And we learn to build on today because the future is insecure in itself

We learn to face our defeats with patience and our triumphs with grace

And we learn to smile through our broken hearts

And after awhile, we learn to live

Fictional Realism

Dear You,

I know it’s been awhile since I wrote, but I wanted to get your take on this idea I’m playing with:

The idea is that the world is a massive book: an encyclopedia which, like Hermione’s bag, can be entered and explored. How I picture it is as a maze of letters: rows of books within books and shelves upon shelves containing and composing the history of the Universe. It’s the Library of Babel and the number 42. It’s extensive, complete, and vast, but ultimately limited to the constraints of Time.

What this means, I think, is that the split seconds are recorded with intensive detail by some unknown “scribes” of this encyclopedia, and the day to day realities of life are reduced to a story which, in our histories, are perceived as fictions even though they really occurred. That is, Napolean is no longer a person, but a character in a story because we can only know the man through the written texts. And, like a character in a fiction, our understanding of these historical figures are limited by the information we have available.

In fact, every interaction we have in the day-to-day is reduced to a kind of vague document outlining the events, but lacking the minutia of the split thoughts and partial comprehensions.

This encyclopedia or library, then, is a multifaceted construct which preserves both the crust and the core of these histories. Some of the entries or books provide the minutia, while some relate only the vaguest of suppositions.

It’s difficult for me to digest, but it’s like this: the world is literature, and we are readers and critics assessing the story and pulling meaning from the words we understand.

I’m not sure how this thought came to my brain, I think, perhaps, from reviewing my old journals and realizing that I understand and imagine the past in the same way that I understand and imagine the stories I read.

I’d like to know what you think of this,

I’m not sure when I’ll write again, but I will when I will.

Until the previous time we’ve met,

Your friend