From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.
The possibility of “might” is not living. The probability of “could” is not life. Oh no; you know, in the little grammar book of life, things mainly work pretty much between the lines of “is”. In cases “should” and “must” but mostly “is”. Life is not a very big fan of the modals, you see.
The boy, now lost among his many numerous books, couldn’t help but wonder about this newly-developed thought; this thought of verbs and their role in life. As terrible as it may sound, things were somehow stuck for good, it seemed. And a turn for the better seemed as peculiar as the Christmas tree in the middle of the Sahara desert!
Trying to find the way, the right way that is, was the lifelong obstacle; it truly was. Life WAS the way and the way WAS life; he just couldn’t see.
The yearn for love and romance had hit him early and had corrupted him for good; had disrupted his course of adolescence and possibly even manhood. He had been stung by the bug of love so swiftly and yet so steadily that he had not known it; he had never gotten the chance to sense it. he knew it precisely as one would know their breathing pattern. Now what more could be expected of the boy in the area of love and romance?
Perfectionism, adaptation and conditioning had all withered the buds of wilderness, adventure and spontaneity in him, so discreetly and with such subtlety that even god himself would not be able to revive his soul and transcend his being.
They had all created this fake of a mirror, always held in his front pocket, close to his heart. The mirror of lies and deception to which he must be addicted by now. The indispensable and invincible mirror of deceit.
He was broke, poor fellow. But pity should do him no good. He had said to a friend, who then had passed the word to me (I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased by this!) about his secret of survival despite all this; in four simple words, without any verbs, be it modal or else:
“my ears, my eyes.”
The friend, puzzled, in awe, had asked him what he meant and he had replied:
“no matter what, I hear and see the beauty present in the world. No matter how horrendous the truth, there’s always the beauty, the various spectacular visions and euphonious voices, ready to be heard and seen. They are there, always, for those who see and hear; for those who care to look and listen. And this helps me go forward; this makes me not complain; this makes me happy in life; regardless of my countless miseries, this keeps me going.”
“People wouldn’t know”, I thought to myself; would they? Of such meaning, such profundity? Of his way of life; his “modal-free” life!
I wish I were free as him. I wish I could have the course of my life as beautiful as that. I wish my life would have such simplicity. Might I ever? Would it happen for me?
It IS possible of course; to be like that; simply to be; to be.