Sometimes I’m literally under a rock.
I know you will argue with me
that "it cannot be literal"
for I'd be crushed into bits.
And I'd try to explain
the feeling,
almost explaining
that this irrational feeling
and these little sagacious arguments
are what keep me from
being crushed.
Then,
you say I can’t be crushed
"by a mere concept",
I’m a normal human
with blood and bones after all.
But in saying so,
and hearing so,
and thinking about it,
and wanting to say all I desperately want to,
and then holding it back in
while I laugh it off,
the crushing becomes
a little realer.
Then you joke about
how "realer cannot be a word"
and that "it sounds slightly off".
Silly,
like the time
I'd made that rounding-off error
while we were discussing
stars and loneliness.
But I’d mutter
"It’s real to me".
And we’d launch into
a discussion about realism
and illusions,
while you maintain your illusion
and I defend mine,
till it feels like
I’m avoiding the immense,
protruding mines
that you've rigorously built
around you.
So,
you bring up minesweeper
and tell me how there’s a pattern
to that game
and if I know it
I’ll win it every time.
And I’d tell you
that no pattern will resuscitate me
when I step on a mine.
- It ends with a lot of crosses
and empty spaces.
And when it does end -
all the ticked, green
safe boxes
lose meaning.
Then you say that meaning is
an arbitrary concept
and everything is binary,
practical,
and "meaning is just something
you ascribe to your unending search for
meaning
lest it fall flat on its face
without a rationale".
And I’d agree to you.
Just like that
the conversation would be over
And we’d be sitting in silence.
You with your self.
Me with the literal,
realer rock
that is bound to pummel over
a mine
Into a meaningless explosion.
You see,
Sometimes there's several you' s.
Others,
its just me
being the
you.
Whichever you
it chooses to show up as,
at the explosive end,
it always says
"I told you so"
And I'm left mid-sigh
trying to put together
the pulverized pieces
of the now-warped
puzzle.
Image Courtesy: Someone who plays minesweeper a lot.
People are different. These differences emerge starkly in conversations that run deep, probably because those are the ones we truly express ourselves in. Such conversations often have one of two aftermaths - making both parties feel truly in-sync or making one/both feel excruciatingly alone. That's the simple reality really.
What you do with this observation, of course is the captivating part - which, in itself, often turns out to be slightly different in our thought (What we think we would do) and our action (What we actually do). Over time, these differences also create a dissonant other within ourselves - manifesting as constant self-talk that sticks out sorely, at odd angles to what we truly feel at that moment. Maybe, in a sense, we split a part off into those that we have captivating differences with and in this way, feel home with the corresponding sense of isolation. How curious!
The prose today is about one such instance of a conversation that we've all had in one way or another. Whether it be with others or with ourselves. This Sunday, here's to pondering over these discussions and corresponding participants, in hopes of travelling further in this journey of self discovery.
Happy Sunday!