I must believe that the universe is microcosmed within a single human being.
Because, as a patterned fact I am relegated to just that: no real connections, promises to keep, hands to hold, or stable relationship in emotional space to the things (Read: people) around me.
I am spinning, bouncing, whirring like the atomic particles that build my frame. I crave stillness; yet, with it, I would die. I want rest. "Rest In Peace." Bah! (No, I take it back! I want motion! Motion!)
I want life, and it exhausts me. I tread water, constantly, constantly...constantly? Constantly I find that nothing and no one remains constant. They bounce, slide like glass beads on a thread, suspended in my constellation. I am the sun...the big yellow bead in the middle. (In my middle, anyway). And I realize, in terrific glimpses, that mine is not the only solar system, that an asteroid might knock off one of my planets (or even that they move--cyclically, seasonally--toward me and away from me), and that one day I will blow up...poof! Extinguished! (And I don't know when.)
1. I am always alone. I am always connected. I am always craving both aloneness and connection.
2. Therefore, either every thing means Everything, or nothing means anything.*
3. I don't know the right answer to number 2. This bothers me a great deal.
*What? Play it back...slower:
(ah, how the language speaks the truth, the complexity: "thing" is in all of the important words above. How frustratingly mimetic of life! And "Nothing means Anything"?! Read it: N o t h i n g (No things) means A n y t h i n g (any thing? any one thing...or every thing? Nothing means everything?). Ugh. How we tell the truth without knowing we know it!)
Words for life. Yeah.