the arbitrerium of thorantium

by synapticdisunion

Once, there was a man who walked through life, dejected, small, unwanted, and lonely.  He would travel from town to town trying different public houses, drinking and talking to the locals.  Sometimes he would strike up a conversation, but soon after, something would go wrong, and the other party would leave, finally understanding that he was nothing, a nobody, just a traveler with no destination…and go back to more familiar things, more familiar people, with familiar destinations.

Today I had to talk to a young man from Kurdistan about his job performance.  I felt like I was outside of my body, letting someone else talk for me, about coming in on time, not leaving too early, being conscientious of co-workers and protective of customer property.  Outside of myself I watched all this occur, and just let it happen, because I had to, or else I couldn’t be here now relaying it in the comfort of my own sanctuary.

The man would then move on to the next town, listening to it’s music, looking at it’s people, trying understand their ways and their words.  Watching them would lead to singing, which would lead to running down the road toward the next town with complete abandon and lack of understanding, trying to never stay somewhere that was comfortable for too long.

I felt good today.  Better than other days.  Accomplished.  Worthy of the pay I receive, and helpful to the organization for which I trade my time for money.  I came home and retired, alone, to my small wood-lined room full of books, and intentional music, and decided to write something. Something I haven’t done in no less than four months.  Ages ago, I said to myself, “I want to be a writer.”  It never happened. It’s probably too late for that now…but maybe I did, and I’m just a writer once every four months.  Only occasionally vomiting words in incoherent and incomplete phrases and sentences on to blank virtual pages that will only be cataloged because our world loves to digitize and save irrelevance.

When he arrives where he’s going, he doesn’t even know it…he stares around and watches the stars fall, he watches the clouds dissipate…feels the rain fall on his face from an empty blue sky…the water washes him clean…baptizing him in his own emptiness, his own void, back to what he was before, back to nothingness, from where he came, from where we all came.  To where we all go, in the end…and it’s more beautiful than he can imagine.

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