i knew a boy who would not share his bike
Jan. 26th, 2005 05:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
artyartiePhilosophical diatribe behind the cut. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Our brief existence is set to 3/4 time. Our most fundamental building blocks are whirring triads of quarks, a tryptich singing along the superstrings. Some worhsip a threefold Goddess, Maiden, Mother, and Crone, acknowledging the triad in time; others worship a threefold God, acknowledging the triad in being. We exist in being, we exist in time, in a brief snatch between endless lengths of non-existence, of mere potential, before we're born, and mere memory, after we're dead. And in this pale flickering of existence, in the gasp of life we're given by mere luck and chance, we find our world filled with Others who share our blessed and cursed fate. We attempt to relate with them, to understand them, though perhaps we would have better luck understanding the riddles of the stars then understanding the blinding light and shuddering darkness of the mind/soul/heart.
Interpersonal relationships may seem a simple 2/4 beat, a plodding, neverending ooom-pah rushing in our ears, but it, too, is a waltz. But the third dimension is curled into the tinest ball, unseen as gravity and yet just as binding. There is the hidden past, memories spoken and unspoken, the context into which we have drawn each other. There is the veiled future, the dark and dim path ahead, and we're uncertain if those same arms will be holding us years or even months from now. And there is the unspoken present, the half-truths and deliberate deceptions we give to one another in an attempt to keep the dance smooth, uninterrupted, even to the point of laying down our happiness at the other's feet, introducing the cruel mathematics of a zero-sum into the motions. But the equations are already painfully convoluted, the dancer haunted by the unseen third, the echo of all that she was not. Yet she dances on, throwing down silks when her own feet are bruised and bleeding, trying to smile all the while.
Our brief existence is set to 3/4 time. Our most fundamental building blocks are whirring triads of quarks, a tryptich singing along the superstrings. Some worhsip a threefold Goddess, Maiden, Mother, and Crone, acknowledging the triad in time; others worship a threefold God, acknowledging the triad in being. We exist in being, we exist in time, in a brief snatch between endless lengths of non-existence, of mere potential, before we're born, and mere memory, after we're dead. And in this pale flickering of existence, in the gasp of life we're given by mere luck and chance, we find our world filled with Others who share our blessed and cursed fate. We attempt to relate with them, to understand them, though perhaps we would have better luck understanding the riddles of the stars then understanding the blinding light and shuddering darkness of the mind/soul/heart.
Interpersonal relationships may seem a simple 2/4 beat, a plodding, neverending ooom-pah rushing in our ears, but it, too, is a waltz. But the third dimension is curled into the tinest ball, unseen as gravity and yet just as binding. There is the hidden past, memories spoken and unspoken, the context into which we have drawn each other. There is the veiled future, the dark and dim path ahead, and we're uncertain if those same arms will be holding us years or even months from now. And there is the unspoken present, the half-truths and deliberate deceptions we give to one another in an attempt to keep the dance smooth, uninterrupted, even to the point of laying down our happiness at the other's feet, introducing the cruel mathematics of a zero-sum into the motions. But the equations are already painfully convoluted, the dancer haunted by the unseen third, the echo of all that she was not. Yet she dances on, throwing down silks when her own feet are bruised and bleeding, trying to smile all the while.
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Date: 2005-01-26 09:00 pm (UTC)I like that phrase, especially. I love the concept of the 3/4 time.
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Date: 2005-01-26 09:52 pm (UTC)And 3/4 time has always had an incredible draw for me, though I really have no clue why. This little piece came to me after listening to 'Snow Cherries From France,' which is beautiful, painfully true, and is, of course, in 3/4 time.
Speaking of music, I finally got to listen to Vienna Teng's 'Warm Strangers.' She is just a musical goddess. I don't know who else could pull off 'Passage' with such beauty, though I think 'The Atheist's Christmas Carol' is probably my favorite of them all.