Gush of Nostalgia

I know there’s trees
I know there’s sand
I know there’s grass
Is it somewhere in the past?
~MGMT~

Consumed by a sudden gush of nostalgia as the prospect of a future is threatened by an irrevocable past. The present being history in the making, and history being the potter of a defining future.

In running from the realities of what has already happened, the future becomes nothing more than a fanciful skin covering the skeleton of a past already lived. Life being no more than history redefining itself, elucidating every rationalization of infinite possibilities.

Possibilities. Dreams. Future. Ideals. Goals. All but whimsical words invented by oneself to assemble and collocate the mistakes of the past, and relive them in a different image, different light, different setting. There is nothing more than what already is – everything in between being the simplicity of understanding and perception of an innovative conception.

Love. Hope. Happiness. Security. Stability. The beauty in a mundane commonplace which most define as “life.” Beauty lies in the ability to acknowledge and appreciate the presence of such luxuries. The luxury of waking up in the morning, knowing that no man is an island. The luxury of having a reason to wake up. The luxury of anticipating the comeliness of what each new day brings.

Nostalgia. Contemplation. Truth. Fear. Avoidance. Words designed to interpret the inexplicable, the twilight zone in which we subconsciously access the sublunary elements in life. The abstractions of an extraordinary phenomena in which science meets the metaphysical. Where knowledge and wisdom compromise. Where the conscious meets the subconscious. Where the circular motion in which we run ceases. The place in-between, where all the answers can be found, but none of the right questions are ever asked.

Primal. Past. Present. Future. Infinity. The endlessness of time, stretching both ways. For if time never ceases to exist, thus there was no beginning. For if there were a beginning, there would inevitably be an end. The enigmas of the universe, stretching far beyond time, leaving the concept of time a triviality contrasted with the vastness of infinity. Everything around being the “bigger picture,” the real issue. Life in itself is meaningless without rational explanation – yet rational explanation in itself being the simplification of a seemingly phantasmagorical truth.

Everything that is: every atom, every molecule. Every noun, every fact. Every substantiated realization, every abstract sensation. To stand and revel in the surfaces of life, the momentary pleasures which one mistakes as “truth” and “reality.” To watch our lives from the present, stretching our lifeline (now being the pinnacle, birth being the starting point) into the potentials of an infinite future. Our lives, our minute issues and minuscule moments of happiness, just happens to be, as the infinities of the universe surround us, and pass by (however slowly) in comparison to the pace of everyday life.

Adding a definitive meaning to life is all but undermining the limitlessness of something greater, something unfathomable. Whether the rationalization being religion or science – to add a written account for what was meant to be experienced is denying the fact that there are questions meant to be unanswered.

Everything has an explanation, but not everything has an answer. The only truth in any controversy is that we, as humans, cannot accept the fact that the universe is larger than life. We as humans create religion and science to define what was meant to be lived: to add meaning to what was already meant to be. To add relevance to what is already relevant.

And what is larger than life is not meant to be explained.
It’s meant to be experienced.

When busy streets a mess with people
Would stop to hold their heads heavy?
When pleasure moments hung before the takeover
The sweeping insensitivity of this still life.
~Imogen Heap~

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