An Attempt to Celebrate My Current Shade of Green

We are inundated, I think, with wonderfully relieving catch phrases. Wrapped up tightly, often with the best of intentions, in insulating blankets of cliches (blue if you're a boy, pink if you're a girl). Flotation devices to help us skim the surface. Water spiders of absurdity, too light and insubstantial to cross the threshold into tension. 

And who's to say the deconstruction of these "inspirational quotes" is necessarily beneficial, if an inflatable raft blown to buoyancy with raindrops ands roses and whiskers on kittens makes for such a smoother ride?

Unless of course they don't resonate, and their ubiquity leaves you feeling confused and alienated because mainstream bandaids don't stick and the depth of what you're experiencing can't quite be patched over by "you know, everything happens for a reason" or "don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened," as if crying is not also a testament to beauty, or as though you can't be doing both at the same time.  

Because the depth of pain is a direct reflection of the depth of honesty and that's what makes it beautiful even as it hurts. And it's an insult to that realness to try and force it through a cookie cutter and subject it to a splash of mass-produced sprinkles. 

And so no, I don't think that one should "never give up," nor do I believe that pain is necessarily conducive to some tangible gain. I imagine there are in fact instances when honesty is not the best policy, and silence is not golden. I consider it stifling to tell someone they should "never change," and am quite skeptical of the fact that love means never having to say you're sorry. If at first you don't succeed, it may not be your best or most healthy option to try, try, and try again.

Of course, there are elements of real value in all of the aforementioned examples-- where I find fault is their generalized nature, the way they use words like "never" and "always," the way they don't allow for exception, remaining deliberately broad rather than nuanced, simplistic rather than complex, as though value is derived from the quantity of things they can be applied to rather than how well-suited they actually are to an experience. But I guess "never give up" is more likely to be stitched on a pillow than "perseverance can be extremely beneficial and rewarding, but there are also instances where it can be ineffective or even detrimental, among other things." 

I must confess however, that much to my regret there is one such phrase that has particularly caught with me, absolutist language and all: "The grass is always greener on the other side." 

I am now going to make a statement "equally" as audacious, arrogant, absolutist and generalized as those I have been thus far bashing. Whatever, I'm a hypocrite-- so are you. **pausing to buckle seatbelt** 

I think this whole issue of grass pigmentation may in fact be the fundamental flaw of the "unenlightened" human condition, in that it's the biggest continued obstacle to our happiness. How terribly unfortunate it is, that we so consistently focus on what's missing rather than what's present. That we so constantly lament rather than rejoice, complain rather than complement, sulk when celebrating would just be so much more fun. What a freaking prank. It's so painfully obvious that we would be happier if we just appreciated our current shade of green, and my inability to translate that intellectual realization into an emotional/spiritual/mental one is really goddamn annoying.   I wish I could throw a big party for my patch of grass, but I don't have time to organize it because I'm too busy comparing and contrasting it to how green I thought it might be, how green it once was, how green his is, and how green it became for the protagonist of a romantic comedy I recently saw. Plus, inevitably if I invited people over for a grass-party I'd end up dying it greener. 

Uch-- could that be any lamer?

The worst part (meh, who knows) is that our perception of how green another person's grass is, is so incredibly biased that our measurements are flawed from the get-go, if not sooner. 

But perhaps today (or maybe I'll start tomorrow), instead of gazing out the window, wrapped up in the pseudo-warmth of cliche blankets and eating cookies cut from a stencil while dreaming of a green that could always get greener...I'll turn on the sprinkler and frolic. 

But don't hold me to that....  

A Paradoxical Post :)!

Oh, hi there.
Even as I write the following with the utmost sincerity, I am painfully aware that it might easily come out sounding false at worst and lame at best. But I mean it:
Thank you so much for coming. I really appreciate you dropping by. I hope you don't feel I've entirely monopolized this conversation we've been having-- and it is a conversation, I think (hope), the very act of your reading necessitates your personal involvement in its "meaning" (ie. whether this appeal is genuine or the most annoying thing ever)--You should know that at this exact moment I consider that fluidity to be my favorite part of this whole blogging endeavor. You should also know that it was a struggle for me not to put quotations around almost every word of that sentence. A friend recently shared with me that he finds religious ritual susceptible to becoming a sort of idolatry in itself, in that one might come to revere the law in all its minutely detailed glory, and in doing so virtually overlook the worship of its supposed source. Of course, one could argue that it is through the fulfillment of divine command that a person is capable of approaching the supernatural-- but without getting too far into it I think this friend of mine raises a very good and subtle point, and upon further reflection I can imagine it manifested in other things as well, including (DUN DUN DUN) language.
Words, in and of themselves really are only symbols, and though perhaps connected one to the other they are quite arbitrary as a whole. The high-school version of myself used to freaking love words, revere them even as the medium of creation and means of transcending human mortality -- which at the time I was desperate to do-- this was before we studied Shakespeare's Ceasar in English class and I learned the word hubris. It was also before a summer in a Non-English speaking Ghanaian orphanage saw all my then-precious words simply fall away, at the hands of beautiful and abandoned children who sent me packing on an ongoing trek in pursuit of the all-elusive state of being: humility...I'm laughing out loud right now because that was three and a half years ago and I feel as though I'm still just consulting my compass, attempting to discern which way to start walking and what I should pack.  Even funnier is that I'm pretty sure I once thought I had already navigated the course and achieved its prize, having only scheduled in a couple of weeks at most for the whole ordeal.
...Anyways, I've since come to believe that words are in fact not the best shot we've got at conquering time, if for no other reason than that doing so is no longer an explicit goal of mine (at least not consciously).
I think of words now as a sort of layer, draped over some "deeper truth," shaped into peaks and crests and even vastness by cultural beliefs, by definition falling short/away from some objective reality because language attempts to crystallize, isolate, and compartmentalize all that is into word-boxes. That depth never used to exist for me; the word was the whole existential package--and therefore even holy-- whereas now I see the very act of language as the fragmentation of infinity. This is not original thought, of course, but I do feel I've come to the idea in a way that allows me to experience it as unique to me. And there's that subjectivity all over again-- not that I mind it, quite the contrary, but it is the reason I so often feel compelled to put things in quotations. Rather than cling as I once did to words for fear of finitude, lately I prefer to give three wholehearted cheers for absurdity and call it a "day" (to a point admittedly, usually all such abstraction implodes once intense personal emotion gets tossed into the equation).
The quotations are as if to say, "I don't really think the definition of this arbitrary collection of sounds adequately reflects what I am trying to communicate, but hey it's the best I've got in my word-repertoire so for the sake of functioning in this society I'll just use it. But I'm still kind of annoyed that I have to. Ya know?" Whatever, I'm not advocating for the reign of silence to overthrow language as our dictator, nor am I trying to undermine the very real power of the spoken word. I suppose I'm just exploring, and hoping that since we both speak English such exploration might resonate for you as well in some way that transcends these characters that I am typing.
By the way, the irony (is this irony? I never know) of the fact that my only means of communicating these ideas is through the very use of words themselves is not lost on me. In fact, I think it's gosh-darn hilarious. Lately I've started doing crosswords- it's fun. And I appreciate that their very design draws attention to the fact that every single letter is trapped in a box, scandalously touching linearities so that each word is just a collection of Appropriately. Filled. Boxes. And we just colour within the lines.
Anyways, thank you again for reading, and in doing so liberating these words from conforming only to the intention I have imposed upon them. I really appreciate you helping me internalize the subjectivity of language, and staving off my idolatry by having some sort of reaction to this post. Until I figure out how to conceive of, and then conjure online some _@#$%@#~~~~f9* that cuts through this communicative layer and somehow expresses an undivided reality, I do hope you'll keep on coming by.
Oh, and one last thing: I think you're beautiful.

Happy Arbitrary New Year!

So. The hour struck midnight, "Snookie" of Jersey Shore descended to Earth in a transparent ball (which, quite honestly, makes me want to just throw in the towel), and we all have to buy/print/upload new calenders because all of a sudden it's 2011 and we're startin 'er over. Seems kind of arbitrary that we compartmentalize our lives based on the activities of a universe whose existence we largely ignore. Or perhaps fitting that we measure the happenings of all things by whatever the Earth is up to in its borderline obsessive orbit of the sun, shushing Copernicus' pleas as we go. Happy New Year- whatever. I'm still unclear on why my schedule is dictated by the potentially miscalculated birth date of a being I have yet to be convinced was of divine incarnation. 

No offense. 

The worst part is that I still felt pressure to do something AWESOME that night. The best part is that the United Nations has declared 2011 to be the International Year of Forests, AND The International Year of Chemistry. Did you not hear that at the stroke of midnight (EST) the entire world dropped their weapons and joined hands to plant trees while reciting the sacred mantra of the periodic table of the elements? For the panasonic photo, smiling faces were strategically lined up in alternating order of ethnicities to assure donors that everything was going off without a hitch. 

OK-- you got me-- what's this rant really about? Sigh. It's my birthday tomorrow, which makes this my own personal New Year's Eve and the night my relationship with Jesus and Pope Gregory (of the Gregorian calender) gets especially awkward. No offense.

Admittedly, a quick consultation with Wikipedia has eased tensions slightly, by assuring me that I do not bear the burden of this night alone. As it happens, January 11th not only marks my birth (?) but that of John A. MacDonald AND Jean Chretien. It is also the date milk was first delivered in bottles (how romantic) and Romania first annexed Transylvania (consequences for vampires still unknown).

Although cute of Christian society to impose a collective New Years upon all of humanity, no offense, I feel like it makes more sense to scrap the whole hyper-commercialized evening altogether. Instead, I propose each person should celebrate his/her/not applicable/undefined/their own New Years on his/her/not applicable/undefined/their respective birthdays. Because let's be honest; the vast majority of us can't help but live our lives as though the world orbits around us anyways (which may explain the sun's subtle UV strikes of vengeance)

To be fair though, it's difficult for today's "first world" human to remain humble when it is possible to acquire, own and have dominion over virtually anything on the planet. Just ask the puppy sleeping in a locked crate in our kitchen whose head is stuck in a lampshade to prevent her from tampering with post-surgical stitches following the routine removal of her ovaries and uterus by our local veterinarian. Or refer to the bulk-sized crate of oranges from Florida going bad in our fridge, conveniently prepackaged and purchased just off the highway in the dead of Toronto winter. I can't be sure if the situation is similar for "third worlders," but I do hear that they're uniformly so very chipper, gracious and kind. Don't even inquire about the status of the "second world"... no one really knows what happened to them.

Anyways, it's my birthday and I am fighting the "yearly" Battle of January 11th to remain cool, calm and collected about the matter. If it hasn't already been made painfully clear to you, I have lost- again. 

It's even more annoying because I've fabricated the entire issue, and intellectually decided it's all arbitrary while emotionally reacting completely antithetically 

At this point, I think the only way to salvage any remaining dignity would be to admit defeat, tip my figurative hat to human vulnerability, acknowledge a worthy (only?) competitor--time-- and curtsy my way on out of this joint while laughing out loud. Preferably not maniacally. 

Happy New Year to all, and a special Personal New Years salute to me and my fellow Prime Ministers; you know who you are ;)

Wishing you all my very best for a happy, healthy, absurd and hilarious 2011, brought to you by Pope Gregory XIII. Amen.