Are
we just conditioned by this or that trauma
Or
is there really such a thing as Karma
Was
I some horrible despot or mass murderer in my past life
That
I had to grow up with so much strife?
I
was only four when I first noticed
That
life is not fair but an iron fist
Could
hit you if you said a word, not even the wrong word
Even
now it sounds totally absurd
When
my dad trashed my home
And
my mum left me alone
While
I was sick in bed
The
fever spinning in my head
I
became an existentialist, right there
Four
year old philosopher
Seeing
there was no point to any of it
That
life is basically a piece of shit
And
all you can do
While
they screw you up real good
Is
to take an automatic stapler
And
paste some flowery wallpaper
On
the walls of your existence
to
hide the crap that’s in it
I
sought refuge in music, theatre and poetry
Man,
I was deep, wrote poems about death and misery
Listening
to other people’s stories
Trying
to find some pattern, some reason to their interminably
stretched
out worries
Telling
myself I wasn’t crazy
And
while others at my school committed suicide
At
least I was still there, I still tried
Though
the teachers said I was lazy.
So
what? it’s all a matter of motivation
Dedication,
inspiration
And
as an existentialist
I
had very little ambition
Eighteen
year old philosopher
Seeing
there was no point to any of it
That
life is basically a piece of shit
Gradually,
and this took forever
Maybe,
after all I wasn’t that clever,
There
were things one could do to fill the void
To
avoid the pain, the emptiness
To
alleviate the disconnectedness
To
staple that flowery wall-paper
All
over my reality
To
choose denial over finality
It
was a great time of love affairs
And
travels and theatre companies
And
tours and festivals and fairs
Of
being transported into other realities
And
if that didn’t work there was always some self-help book
Or
some vitamin supplement I took
Or
meditation or tai chi
To
escape the mediocrity
And
then I got older.
And
perhaps a little wiser,
But
at least a little bolder
So
what I was conditioned by my traumas
So
what I was an emotional carcass?
I am
here, after all
Like
Adam and Eve after the fall
And
even though there is little meaning
Little
impact to my puny little life
Perhaps
there is some, just a tiny bit
Some
light that I can bring
For
a second
A
one-day fly in the eye of eternity
And
all I can do is shine as bright as I can
A little
glow-worm
Crawling
though the eye of the storm
It
hit me then, suddenly
That
despite the trauma, despite the futility
I
love, and I love deeply
There
is so much beauty
That
for so long I could not see
The
bored faces of my students, lit up for a second
Two
people walking hand in hand
A
parting kiss
A
morning in the mist
The
song of a cyclist
Everything
is infinitely small
And
though I’m still an existentialist
I
love it all
