My attachment to life, why it’s so different than everyone elses. I’d make a case for the few years of drug use but no, that feels like a cop out. My connection to this world and the pleasures I enjoy are so different from those around me, and I don’t even feel the need to explain anymore, as if I could.
I made a complete mess with post its and I was just reveling in it; post-its sticking to my shoes as I went back and forth, completing my filing. I marveled at the design on the floor that the mass of yellow stickies made, like staring at the stars. It was my own mess that I had every intention of cleaning up, and I was enjoying it. But questions from others about my mess confused me; why couldn’t they enjoy the simple pleasure of controlled demolition as I could? They only see the mess and think to clean it; organize it, classify it. They don’t see the shape that the mess forms, or feel bite sized bits of joy at watching post-its slowly drift to the floor like leaves on an autum day.
That’s a good analogy for God and existence I think. This universe is just one big swirling mess, but I’ve taken some steps back and am starting to appreciate it. Maybe there isn’t a purpose for this life, as with my mess of post-its, other than to enjoy it while it’s there.
1 comment
I think people are just too selfish or dumb to see beauty in the post its. They see what they’ve been trained to see and they’re incapable of much else. We live in a world full of people who are happiest just being sheep.